


Soulflame

by alittleoff



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Also a soulmates AU!, F/M, Hawke is a Princess, Royal!Hawke, So be warned, Thedas AU!, also Kirkwall is a kingdom not a city-state, and Starkhaven is a city-state WITHING Kirkwall, and for those against carver and merrill, and im a sucker to soulmates, because who doesnt like knowing theres someone destinied to love them no matter what, but also very much not?, chop chop - Freeform, in that its set in Thedas, more medieval than thedas, needs more soulmate AUs up in this fandom, there will be a relationship between the two
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 23:05:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12199194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittleoff/pseuds/alittleoff
Summary: “It’s called a Soulflame. The name comes from the fact it’s a birthmark that looks like it’s been burned onto you. They’re… very rare. They show you your soulmate. The last recorded Soulflame was over a hundred years ago. It belonged to a Ferelden prince. He never found his soulmate.”In a world where soulmates exists, however rare, politics always seem to come between. Hawke had given up on finding her soulmate, and of even choosing to falling in love. Then she met Fenris, and, well, who has time to fall in love in the middle of a rebellion?





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> So very sorry for messing with everything you know about Thedas. This was just an idea that got stuck in my head after talking about the idea of soulmates at work and while I /could/ have fit it into the already canon world of Thedas, I really, really, really wanted Hawke to be royalty. Like so bad.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!!

“It’s not a bad thing,” Queen Leandra sighs, looking up from the dress she had been examining laid out on Hawke’s bed. “but it must stay hidden. There are people who would use it against you and the fewer people that know, the better.”

Hawke is standing in nothing but her drawers in front of a mirror. Absently her hand has been running up and down the sword shaped burn that rests above her navel and she has come to rest her hand over it. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing. I was just… I guess I touch it without noticing.”

“And here I thought you were tenderly touching your stomach in joy of a child inside.”

Hawke whips around the gap at her mother, “ _Mother_! How could you even think-“ she cuts herself off when she sees her mother’s mischievous smile. “You are unbelievable sometimes!”

Queen Leandra laughs, “Oh, but you are so easy to provoke. I do bring it up, though, because that is the exact assumption the nobles will make tonight if you keep doing that.”

Allowing her hand to drop, Hawke walks to the bed and grabs her camisole, yanking it on. “Help me with my corset, mother dearest, and I shall consider keeping my hands away from my stomach.” She tries to glare at her mother but she can’t help the smile that comes to her face.

Together they get Hawke dressed and she admires herself in front of the mirror. She knows nothing of fashion, her go-to attire is trousers and a tunic, but it’s a pretty dark green gown and long enough that it just softly brushes the ground when she walks. There’s too much lace and frill and shiny jewels and gems for her but she can suffer for one night for her mother.

Mother braids her hair, pulling it back with jewelry encrusted pins. Her hair is long, hanging past her butt when completely wet.

“You look radiant.”

“I look Orlesian,” Hawke monotones before turning from the mirror. “I’ll go get Bethany and Carver. No doubt they’re procrastinating getting ready. Like I could have if you weren’t here watching over me.”

“I’ve no doubt,” Queen Leandra smiles and departs, heading towards the ballroom. Guests will be arriving soon and mother was expected to greet each one. It was only polite. Bleh, Hawke thinks, better her than me.

Bethany and Carver, it turns out, are already dressed and waiting outside Carver’s room. Hawke is shocked and says as much, which earns her a punch in the arm from Carver. She punches back.

“It’s unfair that you’re allowed to wear a sword around your hip and I’m not even allowed a slightly rough diamond for which to defend myself,” Hawke pouts as they head towards the ballroom, eyeing the sword on Carver’s hip.

Carver breaks into a grin. “Well, why don’t we go fix that before arriving at the ball?”

“Carver! If you sneak off now you’ll arrive late!” Bethany whispers, sounding scandalized, before she also smiles, “let’s do it!”

All three siblings break into a run as they rush back to Hawke’s room where all three know she has a pair of boots that will hold a set of daggers. Mother had insisted that Hawke wear slippers that matched her gown, but mother was at the ball and not around to stop them. Bethany helps her buckles her boots since the dress is too fluffy and poofy for her to properly see the buckles. Carver picks out two daggers that have emeralds on the handles “to match the dress” he says with a cheeky grin. Hawke practices pulling them out and sliding them into place, trying to learn how to best move the dress out of the way.

“Oh, we should add ‘learning how to remove weapons from hidden places in fancy clothing’ to our never ending list of lessons,” Bethany giggles, flopping belly first onto Hawke’s bed. “So, what’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” Hawke raises an eyebrow in question with a smile.

“Y’know,” She reached out a foot and lightly prods Hawke in the gut. “Knowing that there’s one person out there meant to be yours.”

Hawke loses her smile and a hand comes to rest above her navel, upon the burned sword that lies under the gown and garments. “It’s both wondrous and awful.”

“Does it… do you feel anything from it?” Bethany asks. “There’s so much lore about it you know. But the last person born with a true Soulflame was over a hundred years ago.”

“No. I mean, if you touch it it’s rough because the flesh is burned and scared, but I don’t _feel_ anything from it,” she turns from her sister then, to look towards the window. “It’s magically. Growing up mother read us those stories of people meeting their soulflame in the most romantic ways. I’d like that very much. To meet the one person in this whole world that the Maker made specifically for me, and me for them.” She frowns. It’s a daft dream, to think she could marry anyone besides the prince of Starkhaven.

Hawke smiles, “I think we’ve effectively killed enough time to be the last ones to arrive. Mother’s going to kill use.”

“Then she shouldn’t have sent you to make sure we arrived on time,” Carver says, but helps pull Bethany from the bed. They head out together.

Mother is not happy when they arrive, but they’re safe from any punishment tonight. She side eyes them and they all smile sheepishly back at her.

“Yup, she’s gonna kill us,” Carver nods. “So I think I’m gonna get lost in the crowd. I suggest you two do the same.”

“There’s some friends,” Bethany nods to a group of circle mages, looking awkward in their mage robes amongst the nobility. “I’d be more comfortable dressed like that.”

“And tomorrow you will be,” Hawke nudged Bethany’s arm with her elbow, “go and chat with people who aren’t making idle chat to marry you.”

Hawke goes about mingling, charming all she talks to. Her mother would be proud if Hawke knew she wasn’t so angry. Orlesian nobility was harder to please but the people of Kirkwall enjoyed honesty and politeness, both of which Hawke could do easily.

“Oh, Marlene,” Hawke gushes, “You look fabulous!”

“Oh, not nearly as much as you, Your Highness,” Marlene replies with a smile and a hug. “It’s been far too long since we last saw each other! And look at you, not even covered in dirt!”

Hawke laughs, “I wish I were, Marlene!”

She was good with matching names and faces, with remembering little details. It earned her many friends among the nobility; remembering who had just had great triumphs or losses in their houses and expressing genuine concern about these things went a long way.

She greets and dances with people for nearly two hours before she excuses herself to find some quiet. She scans the ballroom but can’t find either Bethany or Carver, so she heads outside on her own. She checks several balconies before she finds one with only one other person on it. A lone figure leaning against the balcony, back to her with the hood of their cloak up. She can’t make out much about them.

“Do you mind if I join you, or are you seeking privacy?” Hawke asks, not wanting to disturb someone who might be needing alone time.

The figure reaches up and pulls his hood down, turning. The light from the ballroom behind her reveals long, slender ears and white hair, with a face so handsome she can’t help but stare. He stares back for a while before crossing his arms and raising a questioning eyebrow. The movement pulls her eyes from his face and she sees he’s lightly armored, with a breastplate and gauntlets.

“Would you… should I leave?” Hawke asks, because he never answered.

Emotions cross his face so fast she can’t tell what they were before his face is blank again. “Does it matter if you’ve disturbed an elf?”

Hawke doesn’t like the way his question sits, like an accusation. “It matters if I’ve disturbed _you_.”

“Me, specifically,” he repeats and there’s that accusation again. Like he’s holding something against her that she should be ashamed of. But she can’t imagine why, she’s never treated anyone she’s met less than politely, no matter their race.

“Yes, you were on this balcony first,” Hawke elaborates – maybe his accusations will go away with reason, “I’d hate to have bothered you when you wish to be let alone.”

He’s quiet for so long that Hawke is sure he’s trying to find a nice way to tell her to fuck off when he says, “Stay. I’m not bothered.”

She smiles at him. “Thank you. I was really hoping to not have to return to the torture just yet.”

“Dancing?” he chuckles and it’s almost got some humor in it, “I had no idea that balls were so dangerous.”

“Rightly so,” Hawke says seriously, painting a grim expression on her face and she walks up to stand a few feet away from him at the railing, “just try to pry yourself away from Lady Foreseth once you’ve ask for a dance. She’ll never release you.”

“Hmm,” he grunts a reply. She can’t tell if he’s replying to keep conversation going or to brush her off.

She’s going with keep conversation going. “And then there’s Lord Argust. You politely say that you’d love to hear one of his tales from his travels and you’re trapped! He goes on and on and on. One story always leads to another and there’s no escape. Oh! And if anyone from the merchant’s guild catches you looking weak they’ll pounce, ready to ring you for every coin you’ve got for investment.”

“Heh,” it’s a laugh. She’s certain that was a laugh. “You seem to know a lot of people.”

“Oh, well, you know, when you’re a local and _always_ have to come to these terrible balls, you tend to learn a few things about a few people,” she looks back over her shoulder at the ball, “especially since everyone else always has to attend. We see the same people ball after ball. You learn who to avoid.”

She looks to him and see that he’s studying her now. She tries to stand a bit straighter. His eyes are green. They’re beautiful.

“So, anyone else I should avoid?”

She turns with him to look into the ballroom. It’s fun for a little bit, to point out people he should avoid if he wants to enjoy the night – those who told stories that went on for too long, or just wanted you to praise their every little achievement. He listens and nods, points out a few people to ask about. She’s not sure why but she wants to impress him with this knowledge. She doesn’t even know his name, but she knows that several ambassadors from the other nations have come. He holds himself tall, shoulders slightly back in a warrior’s stance. He seems regal, like he knows how to conduct himself in front nobility. With the white tattoos on him, she thinks he might be the Dalish ambassador. The Dalish were known for tattooing themselves, weren’t they?

“And what of him?” he points to one more person and Hawke can’t hold back the noise of disgust she makes.

“That’s Magister Danarius,” she aims for polite but she’s certain she spit the words out like poison. “I’ve only seen him a few times and try to avoid him to the best of my abilities. You can’t be anything but perfectly polite near him or he gives you this… this look that just makes your blood turn to ice in your veins.” She gives a shiver, feeling the phantom cold even now.

“I seem to have found the one person you hold no warmth for.”

“There can be no warmth near Danarius. There is something terribly, terribly disturbed about that man.”

The elf is quiet a long time, giving only a nod in response to her words. “So, do you have a name?”

She opens her mouth, her name and title almost falling out automatically, but here… she has someone willing to talk to her, not because of her rank, but because she’s nice to talk to. This man seems to want nothing from her besides conversation. She doesn’t want to lose that. “Everyone I enjoy talking to calls Hawke.”

“So what should I call you?”

“Hawke,” she replies with a cheeky grin. She should feel bad for lying. The only people who call her Hawke are her siblings, a thing that started out of solidarity to their late father and just sort of stuck as her nickname. She should feel bad, but she doesn’t. She can have this one night, can’t she? Tomorrow, when mother gathers the ambassadors for the meeting he’ll learn the truth. She can apologize for the deceit then if it’s needed.

 That’s tomorrows problem.

“You can call me… Fenris,” he hesitates before he says his name and she wonders if he’s lying like she is. Making a name to hide the truth. Maybe, since he’s nobility (or as close it as a Dalish ambassador can get), he also just wants one night with someone who isn’t demanding anything from his title and status.

“Would you like to dance?” she blurts, and feels her face redden immediately. The music can be heard where they are, but it’s muted from the distance it must go. She feels foolish for asking.

Fenris is looking out across the ballroom, she can see his eyes moving about, taking everything in. “You know what, why not.”

His answer startles her and she’s not sure she heard right until he extends a hand out to her. She lifts just one corner of her mouth to smile and places her hand in his gauntlet. It’s cold to touch. He gives her one spin to start and they fall into a traditional dance. Hawke is surprised that Fenris knows this dance – it’s used mostly in Tevinter and Orlais but Kirkwall, being a mixing pot of all sorts, took it up as well.

They are halfway through the dance when the explosion happens. The castle rocks and everyone screams. Hawke and Fenris break apart in order to stabilize themselves. It’s apparent that whatever happened took place in the castle, she just doesn’t know where.

Fenris frantically looks about the ballroom before bolting into it. Hawke is brought to her senses then and takes action. She reaches down and yanks her daggers from their hiding place and runs into the ballroom. She needs to find Bethany, Carver, and mother.

Carver finds her by running straight into her. “Where’s Bethany!?”

“I don’t know but we’ll find her,” Hawke shouts back over the screams and starts trying to move through the crowd. It’s a hard struggle, all these people want to flee but no one knows where to flee too. Too much movement with no direction.

“MOTHER!” Bethany’s scream catches everyone’s ear and Hawke turns to look. Queen Leandra is on her balcony that overlooks the ballroom. Hawke is close enough that she can see the red stain spreading across her dress from the sword stuck in her abdomen. Her mother brings a hand up, looks stunned, touches the sword that’s protruding from her as though she’s never even seen a sword in her life.

“NO!” Hawke screams and shoves, forcing her way through the crowd. She’s moving blindly, body acting on its own.

By the time her and Carver get there, whoever stabbed their mother is gone. Leandra is on the ground, her hands hovering over her wound as if she’s not sure she should touch it. Hawke drops to her knees automatically, trying to apply pressure to the wound. Carver yells and soon Bethany has joined them, on her knees on the other side of mother.

“Heal her! _Heal her_!” Carver is shouting and Bethany is shaking.

“I don’t- I can’t,” Bethany is crying, “I’ve never done- I don’t know _how_!!”

“Eli-Elizabeth,” Leandra coughs out, placing a hand atop of Hawke’s, “You must… lead.”

“No, mother, no,” Hawke shakes her head, tears in her eyes, “No, we’ll heal you, we’ll-“

“Lead.” It’s the last thing Queen Leandra says. She goes limp and Hawke knows she’s gone. She cries, grasps at her mother’s body with no avail. She clutches her mother’s hand, pulls off her wedding ring and clutches it in her fist.

She can’t quite remember what happens next. It’s all a blur, a rush. Aveline shows up, somehow drags them all away from their mother’s body. There’s shouting, something about an invasion. The castle’s been taken – Tevinter has claimed the throne.

Hawke doesn’t know, can’t remember. She’s running, running as far and fast as her legs will carry her.


	2. The Second Meeting

_Four Months Later_

Hawke takes a deep breath, dagger raised. “You can do this.” She tells herself and jerks the dagger, slicing off her braid. The now short hair falls immediately down around her ears and into her eyes. She can’t keep the braid, though she wants too. She’s kept it for too long already and almost gotten them caught for it. She needs to be unrecognizable.

In less than two weeks, Tevinter had taken all she’d known. Kirkwall’s throne was now under Tevinter reign, nobility answering to him. Her mother’s wedding ring, with her royal crest upon it, is around a chain upon her neck, hidden under her shirt. She touches the place the ring falls, feeling the shape of it through her shirt. It’s all she has left now.

Bethany and Carver were harder to conceal. They’re well know faces – twins were a rarity and almost everyone knew them. They’d needed to wear hoods almost all the time. Bethany had completely shaved her head almost as soon as they’d fled the castle, and she’s slowly been letting it grow out. It was short and shaggy, barely able to even hold a ribbon now. Carver had agreed to grow his out – he kept it pulled back in a tiny ponytail.

They’d long ditched their royal clothing for more suitable traveling clothes. They were trying their best to look like a mismatched band of mercenaries and so far, they had. They’d even acquired a few helpers.

After helping Isabela, she’d promised them safe passage across the waters, as soon as she could get a ship again. Until then, she was tagging along ‘for fun’ it seemed.

Varric they’d picked up somewhere along the way out of the castle and he’d yet to leave. Hawke was glad, they’d become fast and good friends.

Anders and Merrill they found fighting their way through some templars sent by Danarius to capture any mages. Aveline had advised Hawke to just keep walking, head down, but when she saw the templar slap Merrill for requesting some water she knew she couldn’t just walk by and let that happen. Before she’d even thought out a plan of attack, her dagger had been lodged in the guy’s neck. Anders and Merrill were the only two mages to join them of the fifteen or so they’d freed.

All together they certainly looked the part of For Hire Thugs, which was as good a disguise as any.

Only Aveline knew who the Hawke siblings really were, and that was good. These people were helping them and Hawke didn’t want to endanger their lives further with the knowledge that she and her siblings were the most wanted people in all of Kirkwall currently.

“Good look for you, Hawke!” Varric calls out, pulling Hawke from her thoughts.

“Thanks. The braid’s just too heavy,” she wrinkled her face. “I feel so much lighter now!”

“I’ll bet!” Varris grins. “So, I got us a job. Friend of mine, Anso, needs some help. And by friend of mine, I mean a friend of the merchant guild. But it promises to pay well.”

“Let’s do it.”

A few days later leads them into a trap. Anso said that the contact would be easy to spot and the gold would be good. This was nothing like that scenario. Instead, Hawke is jumping, twisting, diving around to avoid taking a sword to the face as she slashes out with her daggers. She’s vaguely aware of her companions and their fighting.

She finds herself back to back with Aveline. “You need to run.”

Hawke laughs at that, “and let you have all the fun. I think not!” she yells the word ‘not’ as she kicks someone away from her, then drives her dagger home into their neck. Aveline lets out a scream and bashes another person with her shield and he drops.

“This is not fun!” Aveline shouts, stabbing her sword into the man on the ground.

Hawke agrees but won’t say that out loud to Aveline. This isn’t fun but it is necessary. She’s a mercenary now and if she wants to live that’s what she’ll stay. Mercenaries don’t run and hide.

Hawke wasn’t a fool. She knew that this wouldn’t be easy. Many of the jobs they get offered are _hard_ and _dangerous_. It’s the jobs no one else will take or wants to do; they pay the best. And she’s good at fighting, always has been. Ever since she’d first taken up a dagger she’s been fighting. Practicing first with any knight willing to just entertain her, up to her own private master once her parents saw she wasn’t going to put the daggers down anytime soon.

Father, an apostate, who’d spent his whole life running from one thing or another, had been very adamant about her training. He knew the dangers of the world. Mother never had. She’d never known anything beyond her castle walls. Hawke had lived her whole life just like her mother, until four months ago. Now she would live the rest of it like her father had. He’d survived long enough to make a good life out of what he’d been given – she would too. And she’s going to make sure Bethany and Carver can live good lives even if they must be simple ones.

“Run,” Aveline insists again as the battle rages around them.

“No,” Hawke says fiercely. “Lead.” She throws herself into the battle with everything she’d got. She finishes the two men near Aveline and jumps to help Varric and Isabela.

Her mother had told her to lead, not to run. So what if she was leading a ragtag group of misfits and not a nation? She would lead, and they would follow.

A new voice yells out in anger and Hawke whips around to face whomever it was. Across the tiny battlefield stands a stranger wielding a sword almost as big as themselves. Hawke sees them take out the two of the men wearing Danarius’ crests and decides that whoever they are, they’re on her side, so she returns to helping her friends.

The battle dies almost as quickly as it started. Hawke is left panting, cuts and scrapes litter her arms but otherwise she’s fine. “Bethany! Carver!”

“We’re fine!” Carver’s voice screams back almost instantly and relief washes over Hawke, though her worry isn’t completely gone. Time to see who else is fine. “Isabela, Varric?” They scream back separate okays. “Aveline, Merrill, Anders!”

“Merrill’s unconscious but it’s from too much magic use, not injury,” Varric calls back and Hawke can feel the tension leave her. All her companions are safe and accounted for. Time to find out who showed up to help.

“Anso said that I would find enemies of Danarius here,” the voice is familiar. Hawke turns to face it and is shocked to see who it is.

“Ambassador Fenris!” she sheathes her daggers and jogs forward to meet him. “I had feared you had met the same fate as-“ she falters here, she always does when speaking about the night that took her mother from her. Hopefully Fenris doesn’t notice. “as the rest of the nobility. We’ve heard that everyone, ambassador to minor noble was either slain or thrown into the dungeons.”

“Amba-?” Fenris blinks. For a moment he looks thrown off before he squints at her for a moment before his eyes search her face. “The girl from the balcony?”

Hawke is saddened that he doesn’t remember her name. She is sure it’s showing on her face because she’s never been good at concealing her emotions (though usually that emotion is anger). “Yes. Hawke.”

“So you’re the rebellion? I had expected…. More people.”

“Rebellion?” Hawke questions, turning to look at Varric. “ _This_ was a rebellion mission!?”

Varric shrugs, unapologetic. “Anso may or may not be dishing out jobs that hinder the magisters efforts here and there. Still pays well so I took it. I wasn’t aware that we were trying to stay neutral. Or, are we trying to stay out of new king’s way?”

Fenris makes a noise in the back of his throat. Sounds an awful lot like ridicule and exasperation to Hawke. “If Anso lied to me then tell me now. Every second wasted here is a second more Danarius gets to live.”

“Give us one moment, _Ambassador_ ,” Hawke spits ambassador out with as much sarcasm as she can muster. If that’s who the Dalish chose to represent them, he’s doing a very poor job of it. She takes a deep breath to calm herself. This warrior before her is very different from the man she’d spoken to on the balcony. But she was also a very different woman from princess she once was.

She motions her friends to gather around. “How much of this did you truly know, Varric?”

“The truth? All of it,” He admits, “Maker Hawke, aren’t you tried of this shit show? It’s been barely even four months and Kirkwall has collapsed upon itself! It’s not gonna be a nation much longer. Or it’ll be one of corpses.”

“He’s right,” Anders speaks up, “Merrill and I heard quite a bit from those Tevinter Templars when we were captive. Tevinter wants to unite all the nations, which would be a nice sentiment if it didn’t involve conquering them all by force.”

“So, what, they plan to make Kirkwall, of all places, Tevinter volume 2?” Isabela sounds scandalized. “This shit hole?”

“Hey!” Carver growls a defense. “This is my _home_ you’re speaking about!”

“What does it matter if we liberate the magister anyway?” Isabela continues as if Carver hadn’t even spoken. “There’s no royal booty to sit in the throne. It’ll take _months_ to even find out who’s left alive of the royalty to get a new king or it’ll just start a whole different war, people killing each other to claim a right they might not even have!”

Hawke grips her ring through her tunic, and gives Carver and Bethany knowing looks. It won’t be hard to find the nearest descendent but Hawke can’t really say that. She can’t let this get out – it would endanger Bethany and Carver if anyone knew. But could she really sit down and just let the man who had her mother murdered rule a nation that was rightfully hers?

“If you aren’t going to help then I’m leaving,” Fenris calls from where she’d left him standing. She turns to look at him as her companions delve deeper into conversation. He stood, arms crossed, looking angry. She made eye contact with him and he just deepened his scowl and turned around, back to her.

This seems personal to him. Hawke can’t fathom why – what would the Dalish have against this particular magister? Maybe someone from his clan had been captured and sold into slavery to him? She knows that usually alienage’s get ransacked for elves but maybe the Dalish get attacked too? Whatever it is, she wants to help. Her hand drops from her ring to rest upon the sword burned above her navel.

“We’ll join!” she calls out the words before she realizes what she’s doing.

“Just like that?” Aveline sounds surprised.

“No group vote?” Anders is trying to be funny but Hawke isn’t feeling funny.

Hawke steels her gaze and turns back to the group. “I am the leader of this merry little band. If you’d rather not liberate a broken nation, feel free to leave.”

No one moves. They seem shocked. Hawke is a little shocked, too. She has been pretending to lead them for a while now but so far all their decision had been mostly mutual. If too many people objected an idea they wouldn’t go through with it. But this is different. This is important.

“I know I’m asking a lot from you. Potentially to throw your life away for a nation that’s never given you anything. But this is home,” Hawke looks to each of her friend’s faces. “I was there, at the castle, the night Danarius stole it. I watched as someone kill m-my queen. Like a coward, they stabbed her in the back! And the explosion! He took out the guest wing, killing more servants than anyone else. We can’t let a monster that would destroy people so easily stay on the throne.”

“Here, here!” Bethany calls out, followed closely by Carver and Aveline. The others nod, slowly.

“Sure, I’ve got nothing better to do,” Isabela sighs but she smiles at Hawke.

“You know I’m in, kid,” Varric grins and it’s a knowing look. Hawke decides to not think too much on it.

“Alright,” she turns to Fenris, who hasn’t moved closer but it turned to face her now. “Consider us hired. We’ll take the freedom of our home as payment.”

Fenris grins then, a wicked thing that looks deadly. “Great. Shall we go then?”

“Follow us. We’ve got a camp nearby. We’ll rest up and leave early in the morning,” Hawke turns without waiting for acknowledgement. She’s still stung that he doesn’t remember her. She looks so very different from the person on the balcony that night. Hair short and covered in filth and blood, it’s a long way from being the woman in a jewel covered ballgown. Still, part of her had hoped he would recognize her regardless, though she doesn’t know why she hopes this. Probably because she’d remembered his voice.

Aveline falls into pace with her as they walk and whispers, “I agree with bringing Danarius to justice but are you sure it’s wise for you? You’ve been trying very hard to keep your secret.”

“It can remain a secret for now,” Hawke whispers back, “Right now, the rebellion is looking for soldiers, not leaders. I can at least do that. I owe that much to my mother.”

The return to camp is uneventful and soon dinner is cooked. Everyone sits around, eating and chatting. It would be nice, normal even, if not for Fenris skulking about, moving from person to person interrogating everyone.

Hawke watched with a stern eye as he walked about. He was unfriendly to Merrill until Varric shooed him away with a refusal to answer any questions. Carver and him seemed to talk politely enough, though it was a short conversation. His conversation with Bethany was even shorter than his with Carver and Hawke notice he kept eyeing her staff as though it would bite him at any time. Curious.

He moved to Aveline. Hawke didn’t know what he asked but Aveline said a single sentence to him as an answer and it seemed to please him. He left Aveline alone with what could be considered a tiny smile. Isabela flirted shamelessly and it appeared to make him uncomfortable. He ended up being the one to end conversation and back away, giving her a funny look.

Hawke is still silently laughing when he approaches Anders. The laughter dies from her when she sees how tense both of them get. She sets her plate down and stands from the log she’d been sitting on. She takes on step forward just as Fenris takes a swing at Anders. The mage doesn’t have time to react and take the hit. Instantly, Anders is jumping forward to hit back.

Aveline reaches them first and grabs Fenris by his upper arm. It looks like she intends to haul him around so he’s no longer facing Anders but she doesn’t get that far. Fenris screams and in the blink of an eye Aveline is on the ground, lip bleeding. Fenris has completely turned from Anders to Aveline and he’s _glowing._ He raises his hand as though he intends to strike her again but Hawke is there now and she places herself in between the two.

Fenris is looking at her, but he also isn’t. It’s like he’s looking through her, beyond her. His face is contorted in anger. “Fenris! Stop this!” She puts a hand up slowly, so that Fenris can stop her if he chose to. Slowly, she places her hand on his breastplate and gives him a gentle shove backwards. Fenris lowers his hand instantly, looks like he’s coming back from wherever he’d been. “Follow me. Now.”

Hawke steps around Fenris, heading away from the group. She hears the sounds of footsteps padding after her and she knows he’s following. She can also hear her companions whispering. That’ll be something she takes care of later.

Once they are far enough from camp that no one can listen in she whirls around, “What was that!?”

Fenris jerks to a stop, barely a foot from her. He must not have been expecting her to stop because he looks surprised. “The mage and I had a disagreement.”

“Is this how you treat all your allies?” Hawke demands.

“I don’t answer to you,” Fenris growls, taking a step back. Creating space between them.

Hawke searches his face but she’s not even sure what she’s looking for. “No. You don’t. But those are my friends you’re hurting. There are better ways to handle your problems besides taking a swing at my healer.”

“You are right,” Fenris surprises her with his admission. “I should never have struck your guard. Or let what your… mage said get to me. I will apologize.”

Hawke nods. “Good. Anything I should tell my friends to avoid so this never happens again?”

“Don’t touch me.”

“And if a fight happens again?”

“Get the other guy to safety,” Fenris deadpans. “Just don’t touch _me_.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Eight Months Later_

Hawke doesn’t want to admit it but she’s disappointed with the rebellion. It’s unorganized, scattered, and has no real leader. It’s less a rebellion and more like Red Jenny. Just groups of random separate people doing things to annoy Danarius more than actually hinder his progress of establishing his rule across the nation.

Nobles were already pledging their loyalty in exchange for the prisoners Danarius had kept from the night of his takeover. Hawke wants to be mad at these people for the lack of loyalty but she knows that if it came down to it, she would have handed Danarius the throne on a platter if it would have spared her mother. But with each noble that turns, the people of those lands drop from the rebellion. Their homes and land are safe so long as they aren’t doing anything against Danarius.

Fenris and herself keep taking missions – freeing slaves and stopping caravans of supplies but it never seems like enough. After conversing with the others, they’ve decided they need to unite and collect as many other rebels as they can find. She sends Bethany and Aveline southwest; Carver and Merrill get sent northwest. Anders and Varric head southeast, and she takes Fenris to head northeast (she’s the only one willing to work with him after what happened at camp still).

“We’ll meet up in two weeks’ time,” she says in place of parting words. She hugs Bethany close and hard. She goes to ruffle Carver’s hair when he pulls her into a crushing hug. All their lives they’ve never been separated for more than a single night. And the twins… they’ve never been apart from each other. But Hawke knows she must split them. If anything happens to one group there must be an Amell left alive to claim the throne if it came to that.

“Let’s go,” she says, lifting her pack and heading out. She doesn’t want to stay to watch them leave.

“So what’s your plan to unite everyone?” Fenris asks, falling into step with her. He’s come a long way since that first night at camp. They’ve been on so many mission together that she knows she can trust him. It’s a strange trust, since they never speak about anything beyond the mission. She knows nothing about him.

“We’ve got to get an army gathered. We’ll never take Kirkwall back from Danarius with a small group of mercenaries. We are heading to Starkhaven. It’s a small city-state that rests within the borders of Kirkwall. Queen Leandra solidified peace with them and with luck, they’ll be willing to help take Kirkwall back before Danarius takes them.”

“That’s the plan? For two strangers to show up and hope Danarius hadn’t beaten them there to beg for help?”

“Do you have a better idea?” Hawke snaps back, shifting the pack on her back more out of irritation then the need to actually move it. They walk in silence for a while and it kills her. She hates the silence.

“So, what’s your stake in all this?” Hawke asks. Fenris looks at her through the corner of his eye.

“Revenge. You?”

Hawke bites her lip. If that isn’t a long and complicated answer. She settles for a simple truth. “Revenge. My mother was among those killed when the castle was taken.”

“Oh,” Fenris sounds surprised. “I am… I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Hawke replies. “I… I haven’t made peace with it yet, but I will. Sometimes… sometimes I’ll wake up and for a blissful moment I think I’m home and my mother is still alive. But then I fully wake up and reality sinks in.” She’s stunned she said so much, let him see this much of her. She feels vulnerable suddenly.

“Sometimes I wake up and remember a life before, too,” Fenris confesses and she looks to him, “I am always grateful when reality sets in.”

“Do you… Do you not like being Dalish?” Hawke asks.

“I am not Dalish.”

“What!?” Hawk hadn’t meant to sound that scandalized but she was so sure. For months, she’s been calling him Ambassador – usually either sarcastically or cheekily but still.

“Oh!” Fenris stops turning to look at her, too. His eyes are wide and he looks guilty almost. “You… you thought I was the Dalish ambassador? Where did you get that idea?”

Hawke blushes, embarrassed. “I just assumed. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. I thought that you might be an ambassador when we spoke on the balcony. Guess I just kind of held onto the notion without even asking you. Though, you never did dispute all the times I called you ambassador.”

“I thought you were making a joke,” Fenris says, “I assumed you were calling me the ambassador for the rebellion since I showed up and all but recruited you. You thought… on the balcony?” The confusion on his face is adorable and Hawke is shocked to find she thinks that.

“I figured you were nobility but I know… knew most of the nobles so I thought, perhaps the Dalish ambassador?”

“You thought I was nobility?” There is awe in his voice, like he can’t believe it. But then his face darkens, “You thought I was Dalish just because I’m an elf?” There’s that accusing tone he uses so often.

“Because he was the only ambassador I hadn’t met yet,” Hawke defends herself. If she didn’t know better, she would have said that Fenris looked impress.

“And just how high of a noble were you to have met all the ambassadors?”

“I’m no- I never said-” Hawke panics, sputters and Fenris laughs.

“Oh, so what? A lady-in-waiting? A scullery maid that stole a dress?” Fenris grins and she can tell he’s trying to joke but she’s not sure she can. There will be no lie believable enough. Fenris is no idiot, that she’s sure of.

“What would you say if I was a maid?” She asks, continuing to move forward, avoiding the joke with a question.

“I’d be impressed that you passed so well for a noble,” Fenris replies and she sees the shrug he gives. She opens her mouth to ask another question when a scream cuts her off. Without needing to say so out loud, she and Fenris take off, listening to the scream and then the sounds of a struggle.

“We just wanna look at the belly o’ yours,” a female voice is heard as they round a corner and see what’s happening. There’s a woman being held by a man and another woman in front of her, pulling her dress up.

“Stop it!” Hawke screams and charges forward. The woman pulling the dress up spins, forgetting the dress and drawing a sword. “What’s going on here?”

“Not one more step you, or we’ll gut her,” the woman threatens.

“Please, please, I don’t have any scars on my stomach!” The girl being held screams. “I swear it!”

“An’ if you was the princess, you wouldn’ be tellin’ the truth anyway,” the woman says over her shoulder.

Hawke freezes. How do they know… What is going on? “What are you looking for?”

“’Aven’t you heard? King’s put out a good bounty for the royal brats. Says the oldest is soulmarked. Got a sword on her stomach. Her ol’ hand maiden spilled the secret!”

The blood drains from Hawke’s veins. She’s suddenly freezing. All this time it never occurred to her that the castle servants would turn on her. She’d never stopped to think about all the people that knew everything about her. Evelyn, her hand maiden, had been the closest thing she had to a friend outside her siblings.

“Let that poor girl go,” Fenris says, drawing his sword. “This is not a battle you will win.”

The bandits size him up and decide he’s right. They abandon the girl and take off, running through the field rather than down the road.

“Thank you!” The girl praises. After checking that she’s uninjured, Hawke and Fenris walk her to her destination, the next town. She repays their kindness with a loaf of bread from her bag. After the thank you’s and your welcome’s are done, they part ways.

“What’s a soulmarked?” Fenris asks, taking a large bite out of the bread.

“You’ve never heard of-“ Hawke cuts herself off, dazed. How could people not know of soulmates? “It’s called a Soulflame, not soulmarked. The name comes from the fact it’s a birthmark that looks like it’s been burned onto you. They’re… very rare. They show you your soulmate. The last recorded Soulflame was over a hundred years ago. It belonged to a Ferelden prince. He never found his soulmate.”

Fenris scoffs, “then what good was the mark? Just a scar he didn’t earn reminding him of what? Love he’d never have?”

“It’s meant for true love!” Hawke is getting defensive and she knows, _knows_ , she shouldn’t make a big deal of this. But at the same time, this matters to her. The Ferelden princes’ story is the exact reason she had to keep her mark secret, hidden, like some evil dirty thing when it just meant that, no matter what, there was someone out there that would love her. “Word got out that his mark was a bird on his shoulder. Hundreds of people branded themselves, hoping to trick the prince into believing they were his true love. Hundreds of selfish people looking to just get at the prince’s title and wealth.”

“I tend to find the people with title and wealth are more selfish.”

“That’s not the point! The point is, he was robbed of his right to find true love! When everyone claims to be your match how do you find the real one?”

Fenris shakes his head. “Haven’t you learned anything from history? Nobility can’t love. They marry for power or position. I’ve never known a nation to allow its leader to marry whoever they please.”

Hawke wants to refute this, wants to defend her mother and father. But she can’t. They weren’t married. Kirkwall would never have accepted the apostate as king. They accepted Leandra’s rule, unmarried, and her bastard children because they carried the Amell blood and name. But their father had been king only within their own hearts and minds. She clenches her fist and walks faster.

“Have… did that upset you?”

“Maybe the princess never told anyone because she **did** hope to marry for love,” Hawke whispers, unclenching her hand and forcing her body to relax. “I’m sorry. I… I knew the princess. Better than most in the castle anyway.”

“Ah,” Fenris nods, “you were her friend. I apology if my words were harsh. It’s easy for me to group nobility into one personality in my mind. Obviously, you knew her better.”

It’s hard to be mad at Fenris when he knows he’s over stepped, and Marker how could she be mad when he _apologizes_. She’s the one lying, deceiving everyone she now calls friend. “Once I thought I knew her best. Now… well, who’s to say what changes could have happened? Would we even recognize each other anymore.” She’s not actually asking him. She’s making an observation about herself but Fenris doesn’t know that.

“So tell me, since you once knew the eldest princess,” Fenris fiddles with something on his belt, “where would she have gone? How could she have abandoned her country, now of all times?” There’s something in his voice that’s harsh, mean. Bordering on hate.

“What exactly are you asking here, Fenris?” Hawke stares forward, watching their path. She’s trying not to look at him.

Fenris is quiet for a while. “I guess I can’t understand why she’s vanished. Why she’s not out fighting, every day, for her home back. How can she possibly be okay with allowing a man like Danarius, a country like Tevinter, rule her home? It makes her no different from people like Danarius.”

“How can you say that!?” Hawke pulls to a complete stop, both angry and hurt. “The princess didn’t invade someone’s home to claim it as their own!”

“Not yet,” Fenris shoots back. To Hawke it feels like a slap. “Everyone with power is the same, haven’t you seen that yet? Nobility, guardsman, mages. If you give them an inch of power, they’ll just want more. And you can only get more from taking that power from others. Sure, Leandra and her children might not have invaded other countries but they invited the evil right into their own home.”

“Nobody was expecting an assassination and a hostile takeover at a ball intended to solidify peace!”

“Peace! It was intended to solidify that the strongest powers in the world remain strong! Every magister in Tevinter couldn’t wait to have Kirkwall in alliance with them. If Kirkwall aligned themselves with Tevinter, then Starkhaven would, too. Ferelden would have to, since they are allied with Kirkwall. Orlais would either have to ally or burn.”

“ _Queen_ Leandra is nothing like the Black Divine,” Hawke puts emphasis on the title, offended by Fenris’s flippant use of her mother first name, as though he _knew_ her. “I was born in that castle, you know. I heard all there was to hear.”

“Eavesdropper.”

Hawke rolls her eyes but continues, “Queen Leandra wanted to bring about peace, not make just one great nation. She just wanted… wanted to make sure that war would never happen again. My father told me that when nations go to war, it’s the poor who suffer for it. I believe that. And Queen Leandra did, too. She just wanted to end war.”

“It’s a noble sentiment,” Fenris says and adds no more.

Even though Hawke knows the truth, Fenris’s words stick with her. She had been there, at every gathering and meeting since she was old enough to know how hold her tongue. She’d heard the negotiation going on. She was there when her mother had solidified the alliance with Starkhaven – she hadn’t even tried to take it by force. She claimed to not want the throne – that it belonged to the Vael’s and should stay that way and just… just promised Hawke’s hand in marriage to a man she hardly knew. She frowns. Marriage, family, that was a powerful bond. Was that why her mother had promised Hawke to the prince of Starkhaven? Just to guarantee Starkhaven’s forces would be hers if she needed them?

Was everything she knew about her mother, about _herself_ , wrong?

The alliance with Starkhaven had never seemed a big deal. It was the same kind of promise of peace leaders of nations had been making for years. Hawke had always seen it as the way to make the bonds of a nation stronger but now… what if Fenris was right? What if all her mother had ever done was make her own power grow in subtle ways? What had her mother actually accomplished for the farmers and merchants of Kirkwall? She’d kept them from having to put on a soldier’s uniform and dying for a cause.

But they were still dying without cause and what had been done to help that?

The vast wealth her family held had just… sat there accumulating, and there was nothing Hawke could think of that made it worth keeping. Buying the finest clothes and hosting lavish balls for nobility and piles and piles of food for feasts where most of it went to waste anyway? These were wastes and it was all she even knew in her life.

All this time she’s been complacent in a power struggle she couldn’t even see. She’d rarely left the castle and now she’s spent almost a year living outside it. For the first four months, she’d been a mercenary. All she’d done was take money and food from people who barely had any to begin with and called it survival. For the most recent eight months or so she’s been helping the rebellion. Small missions that feel like help but have been ultimately futile.

Her hand came up to rest on her stomach. She had given up on the notion of ever finding her other Soulflame; her mother had her convinced that sharing it with the world would only hurt her. Marrying the prince of Starkhaven would solve two problems – Hawke would never need to search for a person she may never find and Kirkwall would never go to war with Starkhaven. It was beginning to feel like she was less complacent in the power struggle and more of a pawn for it.

They walk in mostly silence the rest of the trip and make to the border of Starkhaven with little battle. It’s been a three-day walk. Hawke knows that it’s less than half a day’s walk from the border to the actual city. They should camp for the night.


	4. Chapter 4

“Let’s set up a camp. If we head out as the sun rises we’ll reach Starkhaven once the sun is at the center of the sky,” she heads off the trail and into the dense woods to find a place to camp. They find a place near a river’s edge. “This’ll do. Plus some fresh water!”

Fenris drops his pack on the ground and sits down in front of it to lean back on it. “You sure know your way around Kirkwall. And Starkhaven apparently.”

“I used to study maps for fun,” Hawke replies, dropping her pack but she remains standing. “At least, it was fun until my mother decided to make map studying a daily lesson. Took the fun right out of it.”

“So you’re literate then? A maid that can write. I’m shocked,” Fenris drinks from his waterskin and squints up to Hawke. “Do you have to stand with the sun behind your back?”

“Yes,” Hawke says, shifting to cross her arms over her chest. “Most of the castle servants can read and write. In fact, most of the city can. Education is important.”

“Heh,” Fenris laughs but it’s humorless, “this really is very different from Tevinter.”

“You sure do bring up Tevinter a lot for a man that hates it so.”

A deep sigh escapes Fenris. “Look, Hawke, I need to be honest with you now. There is a chance, if Danarius got to Starkhaven first, that you’ll learn the truth there. I would rather you hear it from me than someone else.”

This seems serious, so Hawke moves. She steps out of the light of the setting sun to go sit beside him. She sits only inches away on his right side, crossed legged and facing him. “What is it Fenris?”

“I am from Tevinter,” he confesses, “I’m a wanted fugitive. I… Danarius is the one seeking me. There’s… I’m wanted alive. That’s my stake in this. I plan to take Danarius down before someone decides to take me to him. I bring this up, because there is a very large bounty on my head, so I’ve been told.”

Hawke nods along with his words and once it’s clear he’s not going to say any more, she speaks. “I’ve heard that Danarius is offering bounties for a lot of people. I’m sorry to hear you’re among them.”

“Oh yes, but few so great as my own. I committed the greatest crime there is to commit. I freed a slave,” a twisted expression crossed Fenris’ face but Hawke can’t place what it was. “Some of those missions we went on for the rebellion. They weren’t just for the rebellion. Some of the people we went after were working for Danarius as slavers and bounty hunters. They were looking for me. The jobs did help the rebellion, but it was mostly just me saving my own ass.”

“Fenris,” Hawke says his name to get him to look at her, and he does, “I will not let them take you. Not ever. We _will_ stop Danarius. He will never get another thing he wants again. This I promise you.”

Fenris examines her face, a gentleness to his expression unlike anything she’s seen before. “While I appreciate the sentiment, Hawke, I am asking that, should I be caught, you are to make sure they get no reward for it. I’m only good alive.”

Hawke reaches a hand out, slowly and tentatively. Fenris’s eyes leave her face to track the progress of her hand but he does nothing to stop her. Ever so lightly, she places her hand upon the exposed skin on his arm, just above his gauntlet. The white tattoos light up, much like that first night at camp, but Fenris doesn’t move. “I will **never** let them take you back to Danarius. **Never**.” The skin beneath her hand feels hot and she can see the glow from his skin dimming but she refuses to take her eyes from his face. She needs him to know she’s sincere, that she means this.

Fenris looks up from her hand to her face. His eyes are dilated and she watches as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Thank you, Hawke.”

Hawke feels her face redden. Why does this always happen around Fenris? She’s seen handsome men before and never felt this way. Her stomach does a flip and she pulls her hand back from his arm slowly. “You’re my friend, Fenris. I will do everything in my power to protect you.” They stare at each other a little longer and Hawke should find it creepy, or weird, or anything but normal. She doesn’t though. Nothing seems wrong about this ridiculously long eye contact and she feels herself lean forward, watches Fenris lean to the side, closer to her. She stops, needs to know if he’s really moving and it’s not her imagination. He is. He leans just a little bit more, studying her face. She feels her mouth part slightly and she’s not sure why.

Fenris jumps up abruptly and whatever was happening is broken. “I’ll be back.” He stands and vanishes downstream.

Hawke frowns but stands only after he’s gone. She’s got a camp to set up and things to worry about. Fenris had been honest with her before someone else could spill his secret. She knows she should do the same. The Vael’s will know who she is, know why she’s come. And even if they don’t recognize her, in order to get their help, she’ll have to tell them who she is. Explain why they need to help. She should tell Fenris, tonight, before it’s too late.

She feels nauseas at the idea. She doesn’t want Fenris to think less of her. They’ve just reached a new level in their friendship. He thinks so little of all royalty and she doesn’t want the hatred to come out onto her. She knows it’s not fair of her to think that Fenris will treat her differently than he already has been. This person, who she is now, is all he’s known of her. Why should she believe the addition of a title would change how he thinks about her?

But those things he’d accused her mother, her _family_ , of…. If he truly believed he was right, that would change everything between them. He wouldn’t see her lie as an act of safety but as one of treachery. He’s already accused her of not loving her country, of hiding and letting others fight her battles. Until he’d met up with her group that was exactly what she’d been doing. Avoiding any jobs that would seem like she was picking a side and fighting for something. She’d been just trying to keep her head down, not be noticed, get enough gold to feed her siblings.

She wasn’t even planning to stand and fight against Tevinter for her home. She had just been wanting to vanish into obscurity until the entire royal family had been proclaimed dead. Save enough money to get Isabela her ship so they could all sail to Ferelden and start over. Live their lives like their father had before he’d met their mother.

Until Fenris had shown up and spoke of rebellion, Hawke had been ready to ditch everything and everyone she knew, just to get Bethany and Carver away from the danger. That’s changed now. She still wants them safe, wants to send them across the sea and away from anyone who would recognize them. But she can’t do that. She can’t run anymore. She can’t keep pretending she’s not royalty, not the next in line for a throne wrongly taken.

Who she is now, this woman willing to stand and fight for Kirkwall, is nothing like the people Fenris hates. She was like those people, once, perhaps, but she knows that’s not who she is now. Would Fenris see that? Would he understand that, yes, he might have had to force her into the rebellion, but she’s stayed because it’s the right thing to do?

Hawke makes a disgruntled noise and throws her sleeping roll down. Camp was all set now, with the exception of Fenris’s sleeping roll. Hers is just crumpled on the ground but that’s halfway to being ready to sleep in anyway. She’s frustrated, too much thinking and being stuck in her own mind. She needs to _do_ something. She grabs her daggers and heads to find a place to practice away from camp.

She practices with her daggers, striking out at and dodging invisible enemies. She’s not sure how long she’s been in the small clearing, but it was long enough for Fenris to have returned from wherever he’d gone. She hears the bushes rustle and turns to see Fenris approach. He must have stopped back at camp because he’s no longer wearing his armor. He’s wearing pants and a tunic. His gauntlets are still on and in his hand is a small, thin sword – nothing like the monster blade he usually has.

“Fighting someone helps more than battling imaginary people whose every move you already know,” he says with a soft smirk.

She can’t bring herself to say anything so instead she drops into a fighting stance, bringing her daggers up. He must know she’s accepting his offer because he lifts the sword from his side and takes sparring stance. He gives a small nod and Hawke attacks.

She charges, striking out with her right dagger first. He brings the blade up to block her attack easily and she swings her the left dagger but he brings his arm up quickly, blocking the attack with his gauntlet. Hawke growls and steps back when he shoves her daggers away from him with sword and gauntlet.

“Again.”

So again she attacks, this time waiting for him to swing first. She ducks beneath his blade, diving behind him and spinning to attack his flank. He’s already anticipated this and has turned, blade raised with both hands on the hilt to meet her daggers in air. The clang of metal and she’s left struggling to push against him. He brings the blade up making a small twisting motion as he does so and her daggers are ripped from her hands. They hit the dirt near his feet.

He bends down and picks them up. He examines them before holding them out for Hawke to take. “Again.”

She complies. Again and again she strikes out and again and again Fenris blocks her. Her frustration is rising; why can’t she get an edge up on Fenris!? She knows she’s skilled with the daggers, knows she’s _good_ at this but she can’t understand why Fenris is so much _better_. She’s had the best tutors and trainer’s money could buy! Her anger rises and she slashes out a flurry of blows, one after another until finally, _finally_ she hits the sword just right, knocks Fenris’s grip on it loose and immediately uses her second dagger to throw it from his grip. She swings the first dagger out again and Fenris brings his arms up, crossing them in front of him in an x shape, her dagger coming to a stop upon hitting them.

She’s won this round, she can feel it and—and suddenly she’s on the ground the wind knocked out of her. Fenris had used his foot to pull her legs out from under her.

“Never hesitate. How have you managed to live as a mercenary this long if you can’t make the final blow?”

Fenris’s words anger her and she clambers back to her feet. “That was a dirty trick! That round was my win!”

“Was it? I hadn’t realized we’d stopped fighting just because it _seemed_ like you had won,” he gave her a smirk. She could have thought it handsome upon his face if she wasn’t angry.

“I can beat you.”

He picks up his sword. “I want you to _try_.”

Maker he’s infuriating. She screams and dives forward without waiting to hear him say ‘again.’  The way he said _try_ was so smug like he didn’t believe it possible for her to ever best him. She needed to prove she could, needed to prove she hadn’t just survived being a mercenary because of luck or something. She’d done it because she was good with her daggers. Hell, she was even good with a bow!

Besides, Fenris had cheated to win the last round. She could play dirty, too.

She dodges several slashes, striking out with her daggers at every opening only to be blocked. This time when Fenris strikes she fumbles the block intentionally, makes her dagger lead his sword where she wants it. The sword slides across the armor of her shoulder pads and cuts across her shoulder. Blood rises from a cut that runs from the end of her armor almost to her neck. It’s a shallow cut (she’d held the sword just high enough with her dagger to ensure that) but it’s enough that Fenris freezes, eyes going wide.

She swings her arms in a quick circle movement, using her forearms to ram against Fenris’s wrists, shoving his arms apart. The jolt (coupled with his shock apparently) loosens his hold on the sword and it is sent flying. Fenris is left stunned, arms outstretched and slightly to the side. She takes a step forward and shoves _hard._ He falls, skids a bit from the force of it and she jumps forward, lands on him and straddles him, holding her daggers above his neck in an x-shape as she leans over him so she can see his face.

She musters her fakest sweetest voice possible and smiles down at him, “Do you yield?”

Fenris doesn’t say anything, just nods softly, his eyes shifting from her face to the cut on her shoulder.

“Good,” she sits up, still straddling his torso and tosses her daggers to the side. She crosses her arms and looks down to him. “Believe it or not, Fenris, I am _good_ at this. Whatever notions you have of my skills in your head, I suggest you banish them.”

“Maker, Hawke,” Fenris breaths out. He sounds strange, ragged and choked at the same time. “I could have cut your head off!”

She laughs, genuinely and loudly. “I _put_ your blade there. You played dirty, so I did.”

Realization dawns on his face. “You _let_ me hurt you!”

“Hardly scratched,” Hawke scoffs, brushes a hand through the air like she’s brushing his comment off. “I put your blade in place without you even realizing it. Left me a good opening too.”

Fenris is still just staring. Hawke is starting to worry when Fenris reaches a hand up and grabs her shoulder pads, yanks her sideways. She yelps in surprise and then grunts when Fenris’s weight presses against her. He’s rolled them so he was now pinning her down. He had rolled straight sideways, affectively switching their position at the expense of Hawke’s comfort. Her legs had been straddling his torso, and now they were spread in the air. She should feel Fenris’s knees against her butt and he was looming over her with both hands resting on either side of her head. It left her lower back feeling pinched and squished. She squirmed and wrapped her legs around him. The act of doing so lifted her butt and lower back from the ground, stretching the muscles and releasing the pinched feeling.

Fenris is looking at her in a way she’s never seen before. It’s a look of awe and there’s something else there… Maker why couldn’t she have had lessons on studying facial expressions? His eyes are dark, pupil dilated again and his mouth is slightly parted. His breathing is slightly heavy.

She licks her lips, can’t break eye contact. She wants to say something, anything, but words are hard to form. She tries anyway. “Pinning me won’t make you the winner.”

Fenris kisses her. She’s stunned. Of all the things that she was expecting in this moment, this wasn’t it. It’s a chaste kiss, lips closed and just pressing against each other but even so her stomach flips. It takes a while for her brain to start working and she tries to kiss back as he pulls away. She blinks up at him, feels her face get hot. Fenris looks down at her, more vulnerable than she’s ever seen him. His eyes look sad and she doesn’t understand why. Was he sad he kissed her?

His arm bends slightly, she can see the muscle tense. He’s going to stand up. She doesn’t want him to stand up. She tightens her legs around him and reaches a hand up to his tunic, pulls it towards herself without using enough force to pull Fenris down with it. She wants to kiss him again, kiss him _more_. But only if he wants. Only if kissing her would make him not sad. His brow furrows, a question she understands without words.

“Please,” she breaths out, words whispered but she hopes it’s just loud enough for him to hear. “if it’s what you want, please kiss me again.”

He does and this time it’s hungrier. There’s teeth and tongue but it’s still so gentle. There’s no rush or panic or hurry. Just the kind of desire that comes with getting what you want and knowing you have all the time in the world to enjoy it. Fenris’s lips are soft and he feels like safety and home. Hawke releases his shirt to place her palm on his chest instead, fingers spread, finger tips touching the exposed skin where his shirt ends near his collar bone. Her free hand moves up to the back of his head where she alternates between petting the back of his neck, to playing with his hair - running her fingers through it gently.

His hands sneak under her, his left arm sliding all the way under her lower back while his right arm secures itself under her armpit and rests his fingers on the opposite shoulder. She feels his muscles tighten and knows. She locks her legs and his lifts her. She’s only surprised by his strength for a moment before she remembers the size of his ridiculous blade and settles against him. He’s still on his knees, leaning back slightly so she’s resting on his thighs. He wraps his arms tighter, pulls her against him until there’s not even enough room to stick a Wicked Grace card between them.

Like this, pulled up on his thighs, she’s taller than him. Fenris must now look up, and she must look down, but they kiss again, a chaste kiss once again before Fenris turns his head to the side and rests it upon her chest. She places a kiss to the top of his head before turning her head to rest her cheek on the top of his head. Softly she strokes his hair.

She has no idea how long they stay like that but they finally untangle when the chill of the night starts to set in. They collect their weapons. Hawke stashes hers in her boots so she can hold Fenris’s hand back to camp.

Fenris builds a fire and Hawke gets a stew going. They don’t talk much but they do steal kisses as they move about camp. They both crawl into Hawke’s sleeping roll and Hawke cuddles into Fenris feeling warm and safe for the first time in months. She loves this feeling of safety, of comfort. She loves that they had no need for words yet understand each other. She loves that they’ve been like that for a while, just knowing each other subtly. And she… she loves everything about him. The realization washes over her. She loves _him_. She can’t pinpoint when it happened – sometime before the group even split up she suspects – but she feels it here, now. She loves him.

The words rise in her throat and the need to tell him swells within her. But she can’t. Not here, not now. So instead she nuzzles her head onto his chest and sleeps.


	5. Chapter 5

Bounty hunters are waiting at Starkhaven. Hawke isn’t expecting them and it gives them the advantage. She curses herself as Fenris deflects a blow meant for her, leaving him vulnerable to an attack by a second person. It’s seven against two and Hawke isn’t used to those odds. There’s one mage, two archers, one with a double handed sword, and the last three with sword and shield.

She needs to take out the long-ranged attacks. She can do this. She dodges around the men wearing bulky armor, it’s easy to dance circles around them once she steels herself. She dances around the last sword wielder and jumps upon a crate on the side of the alley. She throws a dagger at an archer on the roof and it hits its mark in his neck. He drops and rolls, falls off the roof. She jumps and rolls to him. He landed on his back on his quiver. She grabs his bow and a handful of arrows.

Only two of the arrows in her hand are useable; the others have no arrowhead or have been broken in half when the man’s deadweight landed on them. She turns back to the battle in time to see a fireball headed her way. She attempts to jump backwards and out of the way but the fireball is too fast. It explodes against the wall near her and the force of it throws her backwards.

It takes a bit to get her ground again. She stands and sees that Fenris has taken out two of the men with shields but he’s being backed into a corner. An arrow nearly misses his arm.

She sways but lifts the bow and takes aim. The archer isn’t looking at her, has no warning to move. The arrow pierces his neck and he gurgles. He’s probably trying to scream but blood just bubbles out his mouth. She can’t find her second dagger – she must have dropped it when she was trying to dodge the fireball.

Fenris lets out an animalistic scream and Hawke turns to look. He’s glowing and his sword is missing. It doesn’t seem to matter though because his shoves his hand into the chest of the man with the double-handed sword. The man freezes and the sword, which was help high above his head, drops from his grip to fall uselessly to the ground. Fenris retracts his hand and he’s holding the man’s heart.

Hawke’s eyes widen and Fenris looks around and his gaze meets hers. He suddenly looks ashamed and averts his eyes. The last sword and shield user takes this opportunity to knock Fenris aside the head and he drops with a groan.

“Fenris!” Hawke screams and rushes forward. She doesn’t get far. An ice blast hits her, sends her bouncing off the wall of a building and tumbling across the ground. Her vision darkens.

No. She can’t pass out now. She promised Fenris. She promised him and she has so much she needs to say to him. Get up, Hawke. Get up. You. Promised!

She forces her eyes open, climbs to her knees. Her head is throbbing and the world is tilting from side to side. There’s yelling but she can’t hear it fully. It sounds muffled and far away. She squints, tries to see what’s going on. They’re hauling Fenris up, forcing him to stand. The mage has bound him with… something. The mage hands Fenris over to the shield holder. Her grip on the last arrow tightens.

“Hawke! Hawke!” It’s Fenris, she realizes. He still sounds so far away but he’s yelling for her. Get. Up.

She doesn’t even realize she is standing until the arrow she’s notched kills the man with the shield. The mage spins, raises his staff, but Hawke is already _sprinting_ down the alleyway. Before the mage can finish casting whatever he was planning Hawke tackles him. They tumble to the ground and the mage’s staff bounces one way and Hawke is suddenly aware she has no weapon.

She raises her hand and lands a punch. The mage makes a pained noise but grabs Hawke’s hips. A sharp electric jolt runs through her and she screams. All thoughts have left her – the only thing Hawke can think of is survival. Is of living. The pain fades and Hawke does the only thing she can. She grabs the mage’s head and twists with all her might. There’s a wet sounding snap and the mage goes limp. Hawke can feel the life leave him.

“Hawke!” Fenris is beside her, hands behind his back. Hawke rocks softly back and forth. She can hear Fenris just fine now but she can’t say words. Her mouth won’t form anything and her mind is reeling still – though she can hear Fenris, she still can’t make out what he’s actually saying. She crawls off the mage and something painful digs into her palm. Keys. Must be the keys to Fenris’s lock. She’s not sure how she manages it but the lock on the cuffs holding Fenris pop open and suddenly Fenris is holding her. He’s saying a lot of words all at once and she can’t follow along. But Maker, he’s still _free_ and she will still get her chance to tell him she loves him. But that is too much to think about right now, too much to deal with.

So she just says, “I **_promised_**.”

Her words cut off everything Fenris was saying and he just laughs, joyous and free. “Yes. Yes, you did.”

Fenris lets go of her just long enough to get a healing potion. She takes several big gulps and sighs. She can feel the magic washing over her, the headache dulls and vanishes.

“Come on,” Hawke stands, “I gotta find my daggers.”

Fenris laughs again but helps her look. Once they find the daggers they continue on. It won’t be long before someone shows up to see the horror show in the alleyway and she doesn’t want to be around when that happens.

The rest of the walk to the Starkhaven castle is uneventful. Hawke feels dread set in. This will be it. Soon Fenris will know who she really is. She should stop him, now, and just tell him. Tell him exactly what to expect when they reach the castle. She tries opening her mouth several times but no words come out.

“State your business,” a guardsman stops them outside the castle. Speak now, Hawke. This is the time.

“We come from Kirkwall,” Fenris says, “We wish an audience with your king.”

The guardsman eyes them warily but tells them to wait here and leaves. Hawke can hardly believe that’s all it took. Were they expected?

They get lead inside but separated by a herald. “The elf stays here. He’ll speak to only you.”

“Why me?” Hawke whispers.

“Because I’m an elf,” Fenris answers her, “therefore, unworthy.”

“Let’s find out,” the herald says as though he didn’t even hear Fenris and ushers her away. She calls back to Fenris but he just waves goodbye.

The halls are familiar but she’s _looking_ at them for the first time. They pass several servants, all of them elven. The paintings depict nobility, generations of Vael’s spanning back who knows how long. Everything around is expensive and pointless.

“Your Highness, this is the woman being accompanied by the… elf,” the herald bows low and Hawke just stands there. She knows she should bow but she’s too shocked. This is not the king she remembers. This is…

“Sebastian?” Hawke asks, takes one step forward but is stopped by the herald grabbing her roughly by her arm. “Where is your mother? Your father?”

Sebastian rises from his throne, his face revealing the many questions inside his mind. “Why do you need to know? Has someone sent you looking for them?”

She grapples at the chain around her neck, pulls it up and off her head. “No. Danarius is why I’m here. The rebellion plans to take Kirkwall back.” She holds out the ring for him to see. He steps forward and holds his hand out for it. She drops the ring into his hand so he can examine it. The breath he sucks in, quick and sharp, tells her he knows what it is.

“Peace was made with your people. And I know… I know the terms of that peace but I’m afraid I’ve come to claim your aid before-” she cuts off. Can’t bring herself to say it. Doesn’t want to think about it. Her stomach rolls in an unpleasant way and her heart hurts.

“You live,” Sebastian sounds stunned. He waves the herald away, dismisses everyone in the room until it’s just them. He holds the ring out for her to take back. “Queen Elizabeth Amell. You’ve come to solidify the peace treaty then?”

“I...” She takes the ring, holds it between her fingers delicately thinking of her duty. Images of Fenris are all that come to mind. “I can’t. I did not come as a queen fulfilling her duty. I am here as… as a general requesting aid for war. From one friend to another.”

Sebastian presses his lips together. He looks very grim. “It’s not that easy, Lady Amell. You, of all people, must understand the politics that go on at times like these. Danarius may be a blight upon Kirkwall but for now we have peace. I can’t break that truce for just anything. That’s not how the game works.”

“This isn’t a game!” Hawke crushes the ring in a tight fist, feels it trying to dig into her palm through her gloves. “Screw your politics! Danarius is a liar who came to my _home_ under the guise of a truce and peace and instead he blindsided everyone. If you think you’ve made peace with Danarius then you’ve been fooled. What I offer, now, is security. Give my mercenaries the strength of your army and I can guarantee that you will not be invaded by Danarius. Ever.”

“You think my people will go with this? Will accept to throw their lives away for a, what? A promise?”

“Yes.”

“They will not follow you into battle,” Sebastian shakes his head, turning away. “They will not take orders from the would-be queen of a conquered nation. They might, however, take orders from _their_ queen. If you, as you say, fulfill your queenly duty.”

Hawke shakes her head, hurt and confused. She might not have known Sebastian very well before but she’d known him to reasonable at least. This was absurd. Fenris was right. Royalty would always be on the hunt for power. “I’ve been through much to get here, Your Highness. Might I have the chance to… rest and consider what you have said.”

“Of course, my lady,” Sebastian smiles, “I’ll set you up in a guest room. Your servant can sta-“

“He’s not my servant,” Hawke cuts in. “He’s my… friend. I expect he’ll have the adjacent room to mine. That is, assuming, you’ll allow me to stay in the Royal suite.”

Sebastian’s smile is kind. “Of course. I’ll have some fresh clothes sent to your rooms.”

“I have one favor to ask, please,” Hawke says.

“What’s that?”

“Please tell no one who I am. As far as all your servants are concerned, can I just be nobody important?”

“I will need to tell my herald, but worry not, he can keep a secret.”

Hawke is taken straight to the Royalty suite. She’s not sure what the rooms used to be but it had always been the room her mother stayed in when they visited. It was a large room with a bath in it big enough to hold four people. A very fancy thing that was heated by magic. All one had to do was tug upon the rope above the bath and it would heat. The adjacent room is just a small room with light furnishing that is separated by a door that locks from Hawke’s side.

The bath looks so inviting and Hawke suddenly feels all the weight of all the dirt and grim she’s collected. She’s contemplating a bath when a knock on the door pulls her from those thoughts. She opens the door to see an elderly elf woman holding a gown.

“Here you are, my lady,” she held out the dress for Hawke to take. “Will you be needing anything?”

“Thank you but no. Is… Is my traveling companion in his room yet?”

“Yes, my lady. Saw him settled in myself not but five minutes ago.”

“Thank you,” Hawke steps back into her room and closes the door. She takes a big breath and looks up to the ceiling. “Maker, give me strength.”

She stalks across the room, tosses the dress onto the bed when she passes it, and to the door that joins the rooms. Raising a fist, she knocks. She hears the shuffling and movement and the door opens. “Hawke?” Fenris looks very cute when he’s confused. He looks past her around her room. “This door… leads to another room?”

Hawke smiles. “I didn’t design the castle, Fenris. Please come sit with me. We need to talk.”

Fenris nods and steps through the door, leaving it open behind him. Hawke walks into the room, paces. She’s trying to think of what to say, how to word it. As she thinks, Fenris examines her bath. She stops her pacing to watch him with a curious eye. He runs his hand along the side of the tub, the metal of his gauntlet clinking against the metal of the tub. He looks so fascinated by it.

“I’ve seen these in Minrathous,” Fenris says and withdraws his hand from it quickly as if stung. “I wasn’t allowed to use it. Ever. I asked once.” His voice turns dark as he adds, “apparently the punishment for asking is twenty lashings.”

Hawke gasps and Fenris turns to her quickly, his eyes wide. “Why would they _whip_ you for wanting to have a bath!?”

The silence the fills the room is deafening and Hawke can feel her heart in her throat. She takes several steps forward but stops when she sees that Fenris has taken a step back.

“That slave I freed,” Fenris all but whispers. “It was me. I was Danarius’s _personal_ slave and bodyguard. It was him that… that did this to me.” He gestures to himself and it takes Hawke a minute to realize he’s referring to his tattoos. “They’re lyrium.”

“Fenris, may I come closer?” Hawke asks, because she needs him to want her to. He studies her and nods slowly. She steps closer slowly, stops a foot in front of him. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

He licks his lips and nods, but slowly that turns to him shaking his head no, “I want you to know, Hawke. I want you to know all of me. We’ll see if you want to stay once you know.”

She wants to tell him that no matter what she’ll want him, no matter what she’ll never leave, no matter what she’ll love him. She doesn’t though, because he’s talking now, words spilling from him quickly. Like he must get it all out now or he’ll never do it. He doesn’t remember anything before the lyrium tattoos. Just the pain they cause and the pain when people touch them. He talks about his great escape, being left behind and being able to be free for the first time he could remember. Of how Danarius came back for him and the terrible thing he did because of it.

She listens as he tells the story of how he’d run from Danarius then, ashamed of what his fear of Danarius had caused him to do. How he ended up in Ferelden trying to hide. But the bounty hunters kept finding him, no matter how often he moved or where he went. He’d kept one alive once to question about Danarius. Learned that he’d be in Kirkwall. He talks about his decision to come after Danarius instead of waiting to be hunted.

That’s how he had come to be on the balcony that night. He’d scaled the castle and had been waiting for the right time to head inside when Hawke had come onto the balcony. How he was hesitant to talk to her but she had seemed so kind. And he was trying to pass time anyway, until the ball had started to dwindle down and he could sneak in to find Danarius and kill him.

Hawke doesn’t know what to say, but she’s got to say something, so she opens her mouth.

“I don’t want your pity, Hawke,” Fenris cuts her off, his words harsh. That accusing tone she hasn’t heard in a long time was back. “I should go back to my room.” He steps around her to head to the door.

“Do you want to use the bath?” Maker she doesn’t know why she asked that but it stops him. “It’s nice.”

Fenris looks over his shoulder at her before turning back to her. “Well. At least it’s not pity.”

Hawke reaches up and tugs the rope. The bath will start warming now. She walks to him. “Here. Let me help.” She holds a hand out, wants Fenris to stretch out his arm. He does so almost instantly, watching her closely, his expression not quite guarded but certainly not open. She just smiles as him in a way she hopes is sweet and begins to work on the buckle and straps of his gauntlets. Once undone she holds the gauntlet and allows Fenris to pull himself free. She sets the gauntlet atop the nearby dresser and returns to do the same to Fenris’ other arm.

She helps remove his armor. Is extra careful to hold on the armor and allow Fenris to detach himself from it. She never reaches out to touch him even though she wants to. She wants to touch him so bad, pull him close and never let go. But he’d said touching hurts so she won’t. When she bends down to undo the straps and belts along his calves he makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds strangled. She pretends to not have heard and continues her work. Frees one leg, and then the other. Soon he’s left in just his travel clothes.

“If you want privacy I can wait in the other roo-“ She is talking as she stands but loses track of her words when Fenris grabs her arm gently and tugs her closer, bringing his free hand up. It hovers next to her face, giving off a light warmth, before he actually cups her cheek. She sighs happily and nuzzles into his hand, closing her eyes. Fenris’s lips meet hers and she kisses back. Fenris releases her arm and she brings her hands to rest on his hips, hands on his trousers.

“You know,” Fenris says when he pulls back, his voice soft, “You know everything and you’re still here. You’re still treating me like… like I’m your equal.”

“You are my equal,” Hawke whispers back, then remembers the truth she’s keeping from him, “Maybe even my better.”

Fenris crashes their lips together, kisses her with a new need. She meets his hunger with her own, gripping his hips tightly. Fenris takes his free hand and places it on Hawke’s wrist, guides her hand up and under his shirt. She allows him to move her but keeps her hand hovering over his skin. “Maker, Hawke, touch me, please.”

So she does. There’s something in his voice that makes her want to comply. When she touches his skin he lets out a hiss and a curse. She jerks her hand way, afraid she’s hurt him, but he uses his hand to press hers back against him. “It doesn’t hurt, Hawke. It feels _good_.”

Smiling, she slowly drags her other hand up his side, off his hips and under his shirt. His body tenses for just a moment at her touch before relaxing again. She runs her hands up his side and onto his chest, then back down again. She can feel the goosebumps forming on him. Her touch is feather light. She moves, wants to tug off his tunic. She pulls at his tunic and Fenris complies, rips it off quickly.

Hawke sucks in a sharp breath. Fenris is _stunning_ and she has no words. Though Fenris had no choice to get the lyrium tattoos Hawke can’t bring herself to hate them. They’re a part of him, always will be, and he’s so beautiful. She reaches out a hand and traces the line that runs down the center of his chest. She follows her hand with her eyes, taking in the sight of him. She runs her hand lightly across him but can see the muscles tense at her touch all the way down to -

“Maker,” Hawke breathes it out, looking down. It’s difficult to identify, having been partially tattooed over with the lyrium but it’s there. A burn marked sword, three inches long; the hilt and the tip of the blade showing in the scarred red color, the white of the lyrium engraved into almost two and a half inches of the mark. Her Soulflame.

“Are you alright?” Fenris asks, reaches out a hand to lift her chin, bring her face up to his. He looks worried.

But Hawke cannot form words to answer him because her entire world is falling into place. All her life she’d been told to keep the Soulflame a secret and she had. Had pretended to believe it was for the best that no one knew about it. Had lied to herself about not caring if she ever found the person she was destined for. Yet, here he was, the match to her mark and it’s everything she had hoped would happen and all she can think is _‘I loved him first. I knew I loved him before the Soulflame._ ’ She loves him _for him_ , not because the mark told her she had, and the fact that the person she _chose_ to love, regardless of being soulmarked or not, was _The One_ for her has her stunned.

“Do I offend?” Fenris asks, voice pulling her from her own head. He looks so concerned for her, like he might care for her as much as she does for him.

“No, no, not at all,” Hawke is giddy with happiness. She doesn’t know what to do with it, how to express all the things running through her head, “You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen is all. Take your bath, Fenris. You’ve earned it. And after, I’d like to talk.”

Fenris smiles softly and nods. He pries himself away and moves closer to the bath. Hawke walks to the bed, needs to move. She busies herself with taking off her armor. Once she’s down to just her trousers and the binding for her breasts she turns to look at Fenris. He’s laying low in the bath, almost completely submerged and he looks content.

“I’m going to see if I can find us some food,” Hawke says, pulling the gown over her head that was brought to her. It’s slightly to big but she’s not going to complain because it’s _clean_. Fenris mumbles something she didn’t quite hear but given how he makes no effort to move at all she assumes it wasn’t an argument to the food.

She knows her way to the kitchen, having snuck there a couple of times in her youth when they visited. Sebastian used to be the one sneaking with her. They had been such good childhood friends… Her thoughts turn to what he’s said. As a noble, she understands what he said and why he said it. As a person who had been killing to survive this past year, she can’t understand at all. Sebastian’s forces would turn the tide in the war, provided the scattered rebellion was as big as it claimed to be once they’d all been brought together.

Part of her is hoping Sebastian can be made to see that. That their childhood friendship might persuade him to change his mind.

Once in the kitchen the servants question her until the elderly elf that had brought her the gown steps in on her behalf. After saying thank you too many times to keep track, Hawke returns to her room with a tray of sandwiches, two apples, and a jug of cider. She finds Fenris sitting on the bed facing the door, waiting it would seem. He’s pulled on different trousers, _clean_ trousers, perhaps a pair brought to him like the gown had been brought to her.

She sets the tray on the bedside table and hands Fenris a sandwich. He takes it and bites into it. “Not bad.”

Hawke laughs. She wants to sit next to him but she can’t. Not yet. She needs to tell him some things very important. She wrings her hands and paces while he eats the sandwich. She has no idea where to start. So, instead of talking, when he finishes his sandwich she hands him the jug of cider. He takes it with a chuckle and drinks, offering it back to her when he’s done. She doesn’t want it, not yet, so she sets it back down.

“This is very strange,” Fenris says and Hawke moves to stand in front of him, raising an eyebrow in question. “I’ve never been,” he starts, stops. Furrows his brow as he thinks before continuing, “I’ve never been on the receiving end of this treatment. In Tevinter, I was the one fetching food and starting bathes. This feels… strange. Wrong?”

“This is what it’s like to be taken care of,” Hawke says, and she can’t let him talk about himself anymore. Maker she wants to let him, wants to hear every word he ever wants to say, but now is her time to talk. She needs to be honest with him. “Fenris. I have to tell you something. The biggest secret of my life. And I need you to know that I’ve wanted to tell you for a while now but it never seemed like a good time because of the whole being hunted and in constant danger thing but now.” She breaths in deep, exhales slowly. “Now is the safest we’ve been in a long time and you need to know the truth. I… I am. I’m…”

“Hawke, you can tell me,” Fenris’s voice is quiet. “I can keep a secret.”

“My full name is Elizabeth Marion Hawke-Amell,” she blurts, because she has to say it fast and all at once or she might never do it. “I am the would-be queen of Kirkwall.”

Fenris says nothing. He goes completely still and stares at her. His face is blank and she can’t even get a hint of what he’s thinking.

“I know that’s a lot to take in,” Hawke says, needs to rush on, “Especially considering how you feel about nobility and royalty and-“

“You’ve been lying from the beginning?” Fenris asks and his voice has gone flat. “From the first day we met you lied to me.”

Hawke tries to lighten the mood, “well, a bloody battle field isn’t really the place for proper-“

“No, on the balcony!” Fenris stands and she can see his anger. “From day one you lied to me. Couldn’t even tell me the truth _at your own ball_. And here we’ve been traveling together for eight months. _Months_. And with all the times we’ve talked about stolen thrones and missing queens, it was you!” He turns to walk away and Hawke reaches out to grab him. The lyrium on his arm flares to life and burns her hand when she touches his arm. She pulls her hand back instantly, shaking it to try and cool it. He collects his armor from the dresser before Hawke even processes the need to move.

“Fenris, please, just let me-“ she starts around the bed.

“Why should I let you?” Fenris stops just within the doorway to his room, turns to glare at her. “So you can tell me everything else you’ve been lying about? What were you hoping to accomplish here, _Queen Amell_? That you could gain my undying loyalty through a few stolen kisses to help you take back the throne?”

“I didn’t kiss you to try and trick you with… with womanly wiles or something! And if memory serves right, _you_ kissed _me._ ”

“You should have said no!” Fenris growls. “You knew you were the queen and yet you decided to push that aside to play with me. To use me, like some pawn in your game, like Danarius.”

“I am _nothing_ like Danarius and-“

The door to Hawke’s room opens and Hawke cuts off, turning to the intruder. “Sorry, ma’am,” the herald from before gives a bow. “I heard shouting and thought something might be wrong.”

“No, no, everything’s… well,” Hawke says, looking at Fenris out of the corner of her eye. He’s not even looking at the intruder. Instead he’s staring at her, as though he’s never seen her before.

“Oh. I’m sorry for intruding,” the herald bows as he backs out of the room. He reaches to close the door, and adds, “For what it’s worth, I think you will make an excellent queen for Starkhaven _and_ Kirkwall.” And he’s gone.

“Tell me again how you’re nothing like Danarius as you plan your wedding to expand your empire,” Fenris says coldly and slams the door closed.

And Hawke is left with her world crumbling.


	6. Chapter 6

“Hawke!” Bethany cries in joy and all but tackles Hawke. Even though she had promised they would all be reunited in two weeks’ time, it has been closer to two months since Hawke had last seen her sister or brother. Carver is here now, hugging her from the other side. She squeezes them close and allows herself to shed a few happy tears. It’s been far too long and these weeks have been difficult.

“I am so happy to be back,” Hawke sighs and hugs her siblings until they get restless and pull back.

“And just in time, too. We were afraid that you wouldn’t even make it back to your own battle. When we got your letter about needing to stay in Starkhaven we were worried,” Carver grins. “But here we are, a few days away from taking back our home.”

“It’s been a long road,” Varric says from his spot in the corner of the tent. “Can’t believe you pulled it off, Hawke. The bulk of the Starkhaven army on our side. They’re supposed to arrive the morning of the battle, right?”

“Yeah. It’s been… hard,” Hawke swallows, shifts uncomfortably. “has… have you seen Fenris?”

“Broody? Oh yeah, he came through like a storm cloud a few days ago. Not much for conversation,” Varric replies, then gives her a knowing smile. “Why?”

Hawke heart twists but she hopes the smile she puts on passes for something less pained. “It’s just been so long since I’ve seen him. You know he set off to gather more rebels while I was negotiating with Starkhaven.”

“Gotta say,” Varric says, “I didn’t think it was a good idea for you two to split up and be alone out there but you guys accomplished more in two months then the rest of us combined so guess it wasn’t that bad of an idea.”

“Where’s Aveline?”

“Try the blue tent in the center of camp. Your generals have been setting up there,” Carver answers and Hawke heads out.

She walks mostly looking down. She doesn’t want to meet the faces of the people around her just yet. They know who she is, _what_ she is, and she doesn’t want that kind of attention. She wants to be just Hawke for as long as she can.

“Ooof!”

Hawke looks up, startled and ready to apologize to whomever she just ran into and sees it’s Isabela. “Bela!” She throws her arms around her and they hug tightly.

“Oh, you’re back!” Isabela laughs. “I can hardly believe it! Fenris was sure you’d stay in Starkhaven to stay safe.”

“You’ve spoken to Fenris?”

“Sorta,” Isabela shrugs, “we shared a tent last night. Not much talking going on but he did have a few opinions to share when I asked.”

Hawke’s stomach drops to her knees and she feels suddenly very cold. Fenris had… stayed with Isabela. And why wouldn’t he? Isabela is beautiful and funny and not royalty. “And why would he think I wouldn’t be fighting my own war?”

“Probably because the troops are rallying around a queen and if you’re dead it might ruin morale?”

“I won’t allow others to make sacrifices I’m not also willing to make,” Hawke turns to look at the rows and rows of tents that seem to stretch for miles. “Besides, I’m not even queen of Kirkwall yet. As it stands, I’m just the leader of the biggest mercenary army collected in Thedas.”

Isabela laughs and it’s so genuine that Hawke joins in. “So true, Hawke. So true. But since we know that you’ll be queen here soon, could you possible get me a ship once this is all said and done.”

“Isabela, if I live through this, I’ll get you an _armada_.”

“Oh, well, then I _guarantee_ you’ll live,” Isabela gives her a playful wink before dropping the playfulness to look serious. “But I mean it, Hawke. You’ve been a good friend and I will do everything in my power to help you. We all will, you know?”

“I know. I’ll be counting on you all more than anyone else here,” Hawke says, “I trust you all the most. Hey, have you seen Aveline?”

“Just left her actually. Follow me.”

Hawke does and Isabela leads her directly to the blue tent. They bid each other goodbye and Hawke enters the tent. Inside is Aveline and Anders along with some men and woman who had been running their own versions of the rebellion throughout Kirkwall. “Generals.”

“Hawke! I mean, Your Majesty!” Aveline greets, her face neutral but Hawke can see the happiness hiding in her eyes and the way her mouth twitches briefly into a smile. “You’ve arrived.”

“I have,” Hawke takes just a few steps closer, away from the entrance. “I was wondering how our plan was going.”

“It’ll be rough,” Aveline says, “Danarius has secured the castle well, if the information we got is correct. Lots of mages but we’ve quite a few mages of our own, plus templars that actually _know_ how to dampen magic. Given the size of our army, I’d say our odds are good.”

“Given that you aren’t an optimist, I’m saying our odds are great,” Anders adds.

“So, now begins the politics,” Hawke sighs. “When I arrived a guardsman told me that I should find you to get the reply from Danarius. Do you have it?”

Aveline nods and vanishes behind the group of people in the tent. She’s not gone long before she returns with a rolled up letter, still sealed with Danarius’s crest. Hawke snatches the letter from Aveline, all but rips it open to read its contents.

“Well, that sounds like a set up,” Hawke looks over the letter to Aveline. “Help me gather our friends. Danarius wants to negotiate his surrender in person.”

Aveline and Anders agree to gather everyone and send Hawke to wait at the edge of camp, near the horses. She is there now, kicking at a spot of dirt on the ground. Two days. Two days until Kirkwall descended into the chaos of war if Danarius couldn’t be dealt with now. It’s been a long time coming, and though it’s only been a year and a few months, Hawke feels as though she’s aged a decade.

No longer the princess ignorant to everything beyond her own castle walls, Hawke is changed. Forever. She knows there can be no going back. There’s no way to unsee or unlive the horrors she’s witnessed and she doesn’t want to. She needs those memories. So that she never repeats the mistakes of her mother. Never repeats her own mistakes, too.

Bethany and Carver are the first to arrive and wait with her. They don’t talk much even though there’s so much that could be said. Hawke watches them as they sit cross legged together, every now and then muttering something to each other. She’s caught with the realization that she’s grown away from them. In the castle, they might as well have been triplets for how close the three of them were, their seven year age gap meaningless then, but here, now, Hawke is acutely aware of the gap that stretches between them now. They are her siblings and they will always love each other, but right now, there is no room for Hawke. She spent almost two months extra apart from them and she feels that settle around her. Leaves her feeling more alone than she’s ever been.

Merrill finds them shortly after the twins’ own arrival and she sits next to Carver, just enough distance between them to not be touching. Hawke tries not to watch but she sees Merrill place a hand on the grass in the space between them, sees Carver place his hand near Merrill’s, fingertips brushing hers. They’re trying to be very sublet, succeeding at it even, but Hawke can see the feelings there. She used to do many of the same things before…. Before.

Varric shows up alone. Moves to stand next to Hawke right away. “How you holding up, Hawke?”

“Even if I’m not fine, I am,” Hawke answers, isn’t looking at Varric. She’s watching Isabela and Anders arrive, “I have to be.”

Varric nods and gives her a sad, knowing smile. “Sure.”

Without having to say it, Hawke knows that Varric knows. Not everything, not the details of what happened in Starkhaven, but he knows enough and knows not to pry. Hawke loves Varric for that. Aveline might be her oldest friend but Varric is her closest. Varric wasn’t even surprised when he’d learned the truth about who she was. He probably already knew that, too.

In the distance, Hawke watches Aveline approach, sees the brilliant white hair of the person behind her. Some part of Hawke relaxes. She had been afraid Fenris wouldn’t even come, though she knows him well enough to know that was a stupid thought. Fenris only hates her, not the cause and not the mission. He would show if it meant his chance at Danarius.

“Hi,” Hawke starts and feels stupid for doing so. All this time apart and with all that is at stake and all she can say is hi. “In accordance to custom, Danarius has agreed to an audience before battle. I have offered him a chance at surrender and he’s willing to talk. All that we’ve worked for is coming to us, and now we must decide how to proceed. We’ve secured an army but if the Maker smiles upon us, we won’t even have to use them.” Everyone is silent, watching her, listening. Their expressions are so different from the nights around the campfire they shared and yet she can almost imagine that’s where she is. “As… as your queen, I would have orders for each of you. But, as your friend, all I can do is ask your help. I am not the queen of Kirkwall, not so long as Danarius stands within my childhood home. So, as your friend, will you follow me? Will you help me save Kirkwall?” Her eyes scan her friends, she sees them nodding, can hear the agreements, but she looks to Fenris. She needs to know he’s on her side, if only for a little while more. He meets her eyes and she sees his nod, however small, and it’s enough.

“Aveline, Bethany, Carver,” she looks to her siblings, to Merrill sitting so close to her brother, and adds, “Merrill. You four are to stay here.” Protests start but Hawke continues, walks closer to her siblings. “If it’s a trap, if Danarius uses peace as a time to attack, I need you here to fight. To lead.” She reaches up, pulls the chain that holds the family ring off her neck. “Carver, if I don’t come back, I need you to be king.” She holds the ring out. There’s a long pause, the hesitation in Carver eyes showing. “Don’t worry, if I come back I’ll snatch it out of your hand so fast you’ll worry about having all your fingers still.” Carver smiles then, takes the ring. She returns to her place in front of everyone, leaving Carver and Bethany to hover over the ring.

“The rest of you are coming with me. Danarius says he’ll allow a small group of soldiers to accompany me. You’re all capable fighters and should it come to that, there’s no one else I’d rather have by my side. I would much rather face the end with people I know,” Hawke bites her lip, worries they might refuse but no one does. “So, that’s the plan for now. Aveline has a much more thorough plan for the actual battle, so you’ll want to meet with her about that, Carver. Just in case. We head out tonight, the meeting is in the morning at the gates to Kirkwall. Gather what you want to bring and meet me back here at dusk. Dismissed.”

The group scatters slowly. There’s much talking but Hawke drifts away. This is harder than she’d thought it be. By this time tomorrow she could be dead and all she wants is to spend quality time with her friends. She wants to reveal how her hands shake because she’s scared, wants to confess that if it comes down to it, she will die for them. She doesn’t want them to be making that same sacrifice. Wants to gather them all and talk about everything that happened in Starkhaven after Fenris left, to fill them in on all the details. But she can’t.

Keeping secrets is starting to feel like the only thing she’s good at. But the truth she wants to tell them might just ruin their chances of winning and she can’t risk it.

Hawke skips dinner, she’s not really hungry anyway. She spends this time fighting the practice dummies that have been set up. If she keeps her body busy her mind tends to work less and that’s all she wants right now. Less thinking, less worrying. Less feeling her actual existence in this world would be nice, too, but she won’t be able to sleep even if she lays down.

Dusk comes slowly and Hawke spends the last hours of the day at the makeshift stables. The stable master proudly shows her a dracolisk when she first arrives. She’s beautiful, with her orange and brown coloring. Desert Lightning he’d said she was. Apparently, she used to be belong to a nobleman that Danarius had killed; the family donated her to the cause.

“Does she have a name?”

“I did not ask,” the stable master looks lost for a moment. “But, now you can give her one.”

Hawke nods, looks over the dracolisk, the vibrate orange that reminds her of a fire. She lifts only one corner of her mouth into a smile. “How about we call you Soulfire.” Hawke extends a hand that the dracolisk nuzzle into immediately. There’s an intelligence behind in her eyes that Hawke can feel. “I’ll take care of you.”

Once the others have arrived and been given mounts (Varric is riding with Hawke and protesting about it loudly), Hawke gives the order to move out and they leave. Hawke steels herself and refuses to look back.

They ride well into the night and arrive at the forest beyond the castle’s walls before the sun rises. They do not bother to set an actual camp. Hawke takes first watch, allows the others to get some rest first.

The silence of the night is both welcomed and hated. It’s easier to breath without being surrounded by the camp of people depending on her but now she’s alone with her thoughts.

A twig snaps and Hawke spins, daggers out and ready, but all she sees is Fenris. He’s looking directly at her, she can feel it, though she can’t see his face in this darkness.

“Go back to sleep, Fenris,” Hawke sighs, sheathing her daggers, sits down to lean against the tree stump she’d been sitting on, “there’s plenty of night left. I think.”

“Maybe you should sleep instead,” Fenris approaches, she can hear his footsteps on the dried leaves, “it’s you who must play peacemaker with a madman tomorrow.”

“I am done making peace,” Hawke mutters, looks over her shoulder to see Fenris is right there. She’s shocked because she was sure he was farther back than that. Louder and to him she says, “I know what I must do. I’ve never forgotten.” She leans her head back to look up at the fading stars.

“Never, huh?” Fenris accuses.

She too tired, too _scared_ , to fight him now. To argue. “Never. The weight of who I was, am, has never left me.”

“I want to ask you a question and I want you to answer with the truth for once,” Fenris moves into her line of vision, hovers above her. “Why did you lie to me that night on the balcony?”

This is an easy answer, “I wanted to talk to someone who wanted to talk to _me_.”

“Every time someone talks to you that happens.”

“Ugh, no,” Hawke wrinkles her nose, “I mean I wanted someone to have a conversation with me because they were enjoying the conversation. Every person I spoke too that night wanted to talk to me because I was the princess. I had status and the ability to get them what they desire so long as they thought they were charming me. You didn’t know anything about me… I guess I didn’t want our dynamic to change. Thought we were having a good chat. Before it all went tits up that is.”

“And you kept the lie because of?”

She sighs and stands, turns to Fenris. “I kept a secret because my baby siblings were in danger every second of every day. I couldn’t trust that even the very people I’ve been traveling with wouldn’t have sold them out for the bounty. I’m sorry you feel so betrayed, Fenris, but I didn’t just lie to you. I lied to everyone.”

“Did you kiss everyone, too?”

“What is this about, Fenris? What is it you really want to know?”

“Is it time to get up already?” Isabela’s sleepy voice drifts to them and Fenris turns, stalks back to his bedroll without another word.

Hawke turns away and feels the tears gather in her eyes. She takes a deep breath, holds everything in. She cannot break down now. Until Danarius is dead she must be a soldier, battle hardened. She needs to be fine with the fact Fenris hates her now. She must. The fate of her kingdom depended on it. She lifts a hand to rest over her Soulflame and sheds no tears.

*-*-*-*-*-*

“Follow me,” Hawke orders her companions. She tucks one dagger into her belt, doesn’t bother to hide it under her tunic. No one would expect her to come unarmed surely.

The gates that lead into Kirkwall loom in front of her. It’s not nearly as intimidating as entering the city through the harbor but impressive still. As they get closer she can see a lone figure waiting for her. The figure holds a staff and wears the robes of a mage but Hawke can see instantly that it’s not Danarius. Bidding the others to wait, she approaches the mage alone.

“Lady Amell,” the mage gives a small bow, “Danarius apologizes but he simply could not make it. He sent me in his place. I am Hadriana.”

“My name is Hawke,” she hisses, “and I will not play these games. I demand to speak to Danarius.”

“My lady,” there’s a warning tone in Hadriana’s voice, like she won’t tolerate disrespect, “surely you understand that ruling a country is busy work. Danarius cannot step away. He has sent me with a message. Will you at least listen?”

Hawke crosses her arms low on her abdomen, her fingertips just brushing across the emerald gem atop her dagger. “I’m not actually here to negotiate, we both know that. I’m here to-“

“Danarius will surrender.”

Hadriana’s words stop Hawke instantly. She’s shocked. She hears Isabela give a gasp of surprise, even. Good to know her friends are eavesdropping. “Just like that?”

Hadriana smiles, cold and cunning. “Of course. There is, however, one condition.”

Hawke forces a smile in return, “but of course there is.”

Stepping closer, Hadriana lowers her voice, and all but whispers in Hawke’s ear, “Return the slave and Danarius and everyone who came with him will be gone by morning.”

Hawke’s blood runs cold instantly, and she looks over her shoulder to her companions. They are all watching intently, probably trying to not breath in hopes of being able to hear what’s being said. So Hawke whispers back, “One single person in exchange for an entire kingdom. He would do this?”

“Good slaves are so hard to come by these days,” Hadriana’s eyes look past Hawke, the look on her face is dark and hungry. Something flares to life in Hawke then, probably stupidity, but Hawke steps slightly to her right, blocking Hadriana’s view of Fenris.

“I cannot make deals for others,” Hawke whispers, “but I can make them for myself. My counteroffer is this – I will go in Fenris’s place and Tevinter will leave Kirkwall.”

Hadriana laughs loudly and Hawke is a bit ashamed that it startles her, at the small jump she gives. When Hadriana speaks, though, it’s in the quiet whisper they’ve been using. “You would take the place of a slave? He’s nothing. But you are a queen and-“

“If he is nothing, then I am worth more,” Hawke insists. “Take my counteroffer to Danarius.”

Hadriana looks at Hawke, really studies her, as if seeing her for the first time. She is silent a long time before, finally, she says, “We accept these terms. Come with me and we shall set your nation free.”

“May I tell my companions goodbye?” Hawke asks, “This may be the last time I see them.”

“It will be,” Hadriana says, “but Danarius is nothing if not kind. Say your goodbyes. I will be waiting.”

Walking back, she feels numb. This isn’t what she wanted. She’d been planning to gut Danarius as soon as she arrived, damn the consequences to her, but he wasn’t here and now.

Now.

Now she could save hundreds of people in the exchange for one life. How could she not take it? Carver would be a good king, and with Bethany there to help Hawke has no fear for what will become of Kirkwall. Hopefully something better.

Besides, isn’t this what good leaders did? Instead of hiding behind an army she would sacrifice herself. Maybe, in the end, no one will thank her for it. She knows she wouldn’t if someone else were trying to do this but what can she do? She ran away a year ago, sat on the sidelines and let small pocket groups of rebels die while she profited as a mercenary. She should have been regrouping; should have fought her way through the crowds of people at the ball to Danarius, killed him the very night he attacked. Instead she had ran. Hid. Thought only of her own safety. If she had fought at the ball, actually bothered to use the daggers she just _had_ to sneak in, none of this would have happened. All of this was her fault, and only she could right it now.

“So, is he gonna surrender, or are we gonna paint the castle with his blood?” Isabela asks once Hawke is near enough to hear without shouting.

“He’s going to surrender,” Hawke replies because it’s true. “Hadriana is-“

“Hadriana is a liar,” Fenris cuts her off, “and you cannot trust anything she told you. You cannot trust Danarius.”

“I don’t,” Hawke says, “but I must do what is best for my people. I must try. If we take the city by force it will be the people of lowtown who suffer the consequences. It will be all those people we’ve gathered, our makeshift army, that will suffer. People who won’t have to die tomorrow, not if I can help it. So forgive me, Fenris, for being the queen you think I am and thinking of _my_ people first.”

Fenris blinks at her, looks as though she slapped him.

“Danarius has a price for his surrender,” Hawke continues, looking away from Fenris to Varric. “but he will be gone by tomorrow morning. I need you all to get back to camp as fast as these mounts will carry you. Gather the army, tell them to come now. If this is a lie, if Danarius does not honor his promise, tell Aveline to carry out the attack.”

“You aren’t coming with us?” Anders asks.

“No. I must solidify the peace with Danarius,” Hawke gives a smile she hopes is reassuring. “The politics part of our mission has begun. And our army is going to need all the help they can get.”

“Starkhaven’s army won’t be there by the time we return, not if we attack early,” Isabela adds.

“Starkhaven’s army won’t be there anyway,” Hawke says, might as well come clean so they can tell everyone not to expect backup. “I tried to get them to come but they would only march if I fulfilled the treaty my mother made; only if I married Sebastian. I couldn’t, so we are on our own. Now don’t you see why I had to do this? Why I need to resolve this peacefully?”

“You can’t go alone! What if it’s all a lie?” Fenris grips the reigns of the horse he’s holding too tightly. Hawke would feel sorry for the reigns if she were in a better mood.

“If it is all a lie,” Hawke stands taller, takes the pose she saw her mother do so many times when giving an order, “than all the more reason to have an army waiting to attack. Now do as you are told. Your queen orders you.” She whips around and marches away, keeps her head high. Does her best to not appear scared.

She makes it halfway to Hadriana before cold metal wraps around her wrist, pulls her to a stop. She knows it’s Fenris. “I gave you an order.”

“You are not my queen,” Fenris replies, tugs at her wrist gently until she turns around to face him. “I’m from Tevinter, remember.”

Hawke gives an exasperated sigh, because Maker curse him, he’s stubborn, and she should pull her arm free but this might be the last time he touches her. “In this rebellion, you’re on Kirkwall’s side. That makes me your queen.”

“What did Danarius want?”

Hawke opens her mouth, ready to lie, because what’s one more when he already hates her? Finds that the words won’t form. She closes her mouth and swallows, goes to speak again and, “He wants you.”

Fenris doesn’t look surprised, only angrier. “So that’s it then. Return one slave in exchange for your kingdom.”

“No!” Hawke rips her wrist free of Fenris’s grip in one quick jerking motion. “No, Fenris. Maker! How can you think so little of me after everything I’ve _done_. Yes, I kept a secret for you for a very long time, but Maker I wanted to tell you every day! Every. Day! Do all my actions mean so little in the face of my words?” She should stop talking, should walk away now because none of this matters and the sooner she gets to Danarius, the sooner this all ends. But this is it. The only chance to tell Fenris, to make sure that if he hates her, it’s for the right reasons. “I couldn’t put my siblings in danger, and once I knew you well enough to know you’d never betray us, you had already spoken so poorly of my mother, _my family_. The disgust and hatred, your harsh opinions. I’d heard it all already, directed towards the Amell family, towards _me._

“How could I ruin our friendship by telling you I was the very person you had no respect for?” Hawke feels the hot angry tears in her eyes and does nothing to stop them. She’s always been a crier when frustrated so she might as well show him this true part of her, “What chance did I ever have of being worthy of you when all I’d done is lie to you and fail in my duty to protect my kingdom?”

The look on Fenris is not one she’s used to. He looks shocked, scared, a little sad. Too many things and none of them good.

“I messed up,” Hawke adds, tone gentle, “I messed up and I can never take back the lies I kept. I can just… do better now. Be the kind of queen worth something, the one that stops a war before it even starts because her life isn’t any more important than her soldiers. Let me do that. Besides, I promised you that Danarius would never have you again.”

“Hawke,” Fenris says and it comes out pained. His eyes search her face before he says, “you can’t give in to Danarius.”

“Don’t worry. Queens bow to no one,” Her mother used to say that often, especially when she had to make a hard decision. Hawke reaches out and Fenris lets her. She places her finger tips lightly on the armor of Fenris’s abdomen, where approximately, her matching Soulflame lay underneath. “Goodbye, Fenris.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would anyone believe me if I confessed that this whole thing was supposed to just be a 3 page drabble?


	7. Chapter 7

“I must admit,” Danarius circles her, and though Hawke’s fingers itch to grab her dagger, they’ve already taken it from her, “I am shocked that you offered yourself in Fenris’s place.”

“I do not negotiate with another person’s life,” Hawke says, stands tall and proud. “We had a deal Danarius.”

“So we did,” Danarius stops in front of her, cocks his head to the side slightly, “but that deal was made with Hadriana. You are here now, so I will think on what you’ve said. Tomorrow morning you shall have my answer. Take her away and make her comfortable.”

Guards grab her upper arms and haul her away. She walks with them so as to not be dragged away. They lead down a very familiar hall and then up far too many stairs. She knows exactly where they are taking her. They walk her to what was once Bethany’s room. There is a magical barrier on the door and the nearby mage lowers it. A guard removes Hawke’s cuffs and toss her into the room. By the time Hawke turns around, the barrier is up again.

With a sigh, Hawke looks around. It’s been such a long time since Hawke was in here. The décor is more or less the same, just barren of any personal items. Bethany’s collection of perfumes is no longer atop her dresser. She looks to the windows and can see that they aren’t locked but she knows very well that they don’t need to be. Bethany’s room was - _is_ \- the highest one in the castle.

When Bethany had come into her magic, mother had hid it. Wanted Bethany to stay here in the castle. Mother had been so afraid of anyone learning about her magic she had flat out refused to allow Bethany to even leave the castle. Bethany had thrown a fit. Hawke smiles at the memory. As an act of rebellion Bethany had packed up a few personal items and marched herself to this room – it sits in the far corner of the castle and overlooks the inland of Kirkwall. Bethany has insisted that if she had to stay locked away like a fairy tale princess than she was going to take the tallest room.

Hawke remembers helping Bethany move her things, how it had taken their mother only two days to cave and get servants to clean up the old dingy tower room that hadn’t been used for anything but storage. Hawke had slept in this room with her the first night Bethany had claimed it. Cobwebs and dust littered almost every inch of floor but Hawke just laid out a blanket on the floor. She and Bethany fell asleep on it; Hawke had woken only briefly when the door had opened but it was just Carver sneaking in to join them. The twins were only eight at the time.

Standing at the window and looking out, Hawke is pulled from her memory. Leaving through a window is certainly a death sentence, just a straight drop down with no ledges of any sort to use as handholds. Hawke didn’t come here to die but… she remembers what Fenris told her about his time with Danarius, and she thinks that she might wish she were dead before long.

No one comes to check on her and she watches the sunset.

A little while later has her removing her armor. She strips down to her small clothes. Just a pair of drawers and her breast binder. While she would like to sleep with it off she didn’t trust that Danarius wouldn’t just send someone in here to retrieve her at an odd hour of the night. She climbs into bed and does her best to fall asleep.

Her eyes feel like they’ve only been closed for a few minutes before someone is shaking her awake. With a groan she sits up and forces her eyes open. She blinks a few times, clearing her vision, before she gasps. Fenris is the one staring down at her.

“What are you-“ she cuts off, seeing the open window behind him. “ _Did you just scale the tallest part of the castle? Maker have mercy, how did you not fall to your death!_ ” she whisper-hisses. Bethany and her had made several attempts to try and learn to sneak out the windows but there’s just no way to do it. How in the world had Fenris managed it?

“You know, Varric is a lot smarter than one would expect him to be,” is all Fenris says, bending down and picking up something to throw at Hawke. It hits her in the face and falls to her lap. It’s her tunic.

“What are you doing here?” Hawke asks, pulling the blankets off herself and sliding out of bed. She leaves the tunic on the bed in favoring of stretching before dressing. She’d been in her armor for far too long, and now out of it for far too short a time and her limbs _hurt_. If Fenris thinks she’s putting that armor back on without at least feeling the full motion range of her own limbs than he’s lost his mind. Fenris is just watching her. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even offer an explanation. Stopping her stretches, she puts her hands on her hips and stares him down. “Fenris.”

“I’m sorry,” is what falls out of his mouth, and he looks just as surprised to have said it as Hawke is to hear it.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Hawke starts to wave off his apology but Fenris catches her hand.

“I overreacted,” Fenris says, and he’s so serious looking that Hawke can just nod an acknowledgement to him, “all of your reasons for withholding the truth are valid. It wasn’t safe for you to talk about it, and the moment we were safe, when you _could_ finally tell me, I took it very personally. But it wasn’t personal. You didn’t hide anything with the intention of hurting me. You were hiding so no one could hurt Bethany or Carver.”

The questions Hawke wants to ask must be showing on her face because he adds, “Varric may or may not have informed me of how much of an idiot I am.”

Hawke laughs then. Laughs so hard she’s not even making noise, needs to pull her hand from Fenris’s grip just to double over, clutching at her stomach. It takes a while for it to subside but when it does she says, “Of _course_ Varric did.” Because Varric knows everything. Hawke should know this by now.

“Hawke, whatever you’ve negotiated, you can’t,” Fenris is trying to be stern, she can tell, but his eyes are on her, looking her over. She has an urge to try and cover herself but doesn’t. She’s seen this much of Fenris before, it’s only fair he gets to be the fully clothed one for a moment. “Is that your Soulflame?”

Her hand touches it out of habit. “Yeah. It’s… it’s my proof that, despite everything, I’m loveable.” She gives a dry chuckle, moves to grab the tunic she’d abandoned earlier.

“Is it why you denied marrying Sebastian? Because he didn’t match?”

Hawke’s hand falters for a moment before snatching the tunic from the bed and forcing it roughly over her head, over her Soulflame. “No. I denied Sebastian because I already loved someone else.”

“Hawke, don’t.”

Hawke nods, feels the rejection pooling in her stomach like acid. He might not hate her anymore but that doesn’t mean he showed up to profess his undying love and rescue her like some white knight. She goes to gather her clothes and armor, dresses as quickly as she can. “So, what’s the plan here exactly? I can’t just scale down the side of the castle and I still don’t know how you _climbed up_.”

“Like it was hard? But no, we will not be going back out the window. Apparently Varric has a friend on the inside here,” Fenris says. “As soon as the barrier is down we’re going after Danarius.”

“That’s… convenient. Also a plan I can get behind but I’ll need to get some daggers.”

It doesn’t take too much longer before the blue barrier at the door flickers away. Hawke peeks out the door but there’s no one there. Whoever it was is already gone.

“Let’s go.”

A booming noise and a bright orange light come in through the window and Hawke races to see what’s going on. Out the window she can see mages firing spells but can’t make out much beyond the random flashes of light. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They rush down the stairs. Fenris takes out the first two guards and Hawke relieves them of their daggers. Soon they are fighting their way down the stairs together. They reach the grand entrance and watch as Anders leads a group of people inside. His eyes are glowing and Hawke has many questions but this is not the time. Behind Anders is Isabela, Varric, and Aveline. She can’t just stand still to watch who else enters (though she really wants to see who all’s arrived) because she’s got to keep fighting. She dodges a shield bash and twirls around to stab her attacker in the neck. She has no time for mercy, not tonight. She twirls away, leaves Fenris to deal with two mages while she charges ahead.

This wasn’t the plan, wasn’t what she expected, but it feels poetic. A hostile takeover of her own home, much like when Danarius took it from her. Feels like justice. Also, she has many, many questions for Varric.

“You should have stayed in bed,” Hadriana manifests from the darkness, dragging someone with her. An unfamiliar elf and Hawke realizes he must be a slave.

“Release him,” Hawke raises her daggers but Hadriana is faster. She twirls her staff, uses the end of it to stab the slave in the heart. She rips the staff’s blade free and extends a hand to Hawke.

Her entire body feels like it’s on fire. She screams because what else can she do? Hadriana starts to close her hand, attempts to make a fist, and as her hand closes Hawke feels like she’s been squeezed from the inside out. Her head is throbbing and she can’t move, can’t even scream anymore. The world flickers, she wishes she would just pass out now, stop the pain and-

She crumples to the floor without explanation. The pain goes just as quickly as it came and Hawke is left winded and confused. “How…?”

Fenris has his fist in Hadriana’s chest and the mage is standing there, blood leaking from her mouth and she’s dropped the staff but she’s not dead yet. Won’t be until Fenris rips his hand from her chest, taking her heart with him. But he hasn’t. He’s staring beyond Hadriana and Hawke realizes he’s look at her. He makes eye contact with her and Hawke feels herself nod. Only then does Fenris rip the heart from Hadriana.

Hawke climbs back up, shakes off the effects of the spell as best she can. She’s not down and out yet.

It’s a long battle to Danarius, many mages and guards block his way. Hawke wonders what makes these people so loyal to Danarius, what kind of respect does he command? Is it fear? Is it the hope that if they win the day they’ll be rewarded? She can’t believe that it could be because, somehow, he’s a good leader.

“Fenris,” Danarius greets them when they burst into the throne room. He’s so calm sounding. Makes Hawke wants to rip his throat out with her bare hands. “My pet, it’s been far too long.”

“Not long enough,” Fenris growls. Hawke can hear the metal of his gauntlets groan with how tight he is gripping his sword.

Danarius chuckles dryly and swings his staff. The castle shakes and shades pull themselves from the floor. Maker have mercy. Hawke wasn’t sure she can hate Danarius anymore and then he does this.

The shades are easy enough to actually kill; it’s landing a hit that’s difficult. The shades are fast and slick and Hawke hates that she has to get so close to them in order to strike. Regrets her weapon of choice for a moment.

It feels like Danarius has a never ending supply of enemies to throw at them. Before the shades are even defeated completely a group of men with swords swarm them and Hawke must duck and weave to stay ahead of getting hit. She can’t slash out a counterattack because there’s too many people.

A shower of arrows rains down near her and she jumps back, startled. There at the door is Varric, Aveline fast behind him, charging into the battle with a yell. Hawke watches as her friends pour through the door and soon the tide turns. Hawke turns to Danarius, sees her opening, and goes for it.

She screams as she jumps, raises a dagger to bury deep into his chest. Danarius is quicker than she expects and brings his staff up to block her attack.

“Call off your men and surrender and I might just ship you back to Tevinter alive,” Hawke says through gritted teeth.

“I think not,” Danarius looks like he’s not even breaking a sweat. Has Hawke mentioned that she hates him? “What was our deal, your life for his?” He shoves back, and Hawke takes the step back. She’s not foolish so she keeps her guard up.

“You’re losing. I don’t think you have much room to negotiate,” Hawke raises an eyebrow.

Danarius reaches into his robe, produces a small vial of dark liquid. “A phylactery. Fenris’s to be exact. I had to make sure I never lost him, you see.”

Hawke growls, “Hand it over.”

Danarius just gives his wicked grin and squeezes the glass vial until it shatters in his hand. He licks the blood from his hand and Hawke shudders. “Whoops.”

“Now you have nothing to bargain with-“

“Don’t I?” Danarius looks to the side and Hawke follow his gaze. Fenris is frozen in place, sword high above his head. His arms shake like he’s fighting to move but can’t. Danarius seems amused by this, raises his staff in the air. The person fighting Fenris takes this chance, hits him across the face with shield and Fenris falls to the side. The man twirls his sword, stalks towards Fenris. Fenris, who still can’t move, appears to be fighting an invisible hand that holds him down.

 “I say again, Hawke,” Danarius steps back, “your life, or his.”

“Call off your man! My life, Andraste curse you, _my life_!” Hawke tosses her daggers down, knows the fear must be showing on her face, but Danarius isn’t playing fair and she’s not going to gamble with Fenris’s life.

With a small wave of his hand, the man attacking Fenris stops instantly. Instead he turns, stands as though he’s now guarding Fenris. “Now, if you would quietly die so I can end this foolish rebellion.”

Hawke’s never been stabbed before and it’s odd to her that she knows the sensation as soon as it happens. She opens her mouth but nothing comes out. The air leaves her and she hears screams of ‘no’ but they sound so far away. She looks down and sees the blade that’s stabbed through her. It’s probably cut her Soulflame in half. Everything seems so slow, sluggish. She brings a hand up, touches the blade, and is acutely aware of how much this scene must resemble her mother’s death. She understands her mother’s stunned expression because this seems like it can’t be real. Like it’s a bad dream and she’ll wake up soon.

Her knees give out and she falls, willing her arms to stretch out, to catch herself. She ends up on her hands and knees; she watches the blood run down the blade, drip off the end onto the floor. It’s sickening and captivating and she doesn’t know how to look away. Thinks, vaguely, that she can’t close her eyes. Can’t succumb to this. Right arm giving out, she falls to her side, stares out at the battle raging on before her. She can’t focus on anything, though, can’t see who is winning.

It should hurt. She’s very sure it should hurt but she doesn’t feel anything. Can’t feel anything. Can’t hear anything either. Everything’s gone numb and her vision starts to blur. She thinks, maybe, this is the best way to go. It’s poetic.

The darkness takes her and Hawke doesn’t fight it.

* * *

 

_Everything feels so … light. It’s bright, too bright, and opening my eyes hurts._

_“Oh, Elizabeth,” mother’s voice fills my ears. Softly she touches my back and the world clears. It’s just mother, we’re in the castle throne room. It’s devoid of servants, just the empty throne room, mother standing next to me, comforting hand on my back, “you look so beautiful.”_

_I smile, happiness fills me, consumes me until it’s got nowhere to go but out. It escapes through my tears, I feel them falling but can’t bring myself to wipe them away. “Mother. I-I feel as though I’ve missed you, but I can’t recall exactly when you’ve been gone.”_

_“I am never gone, Elizabeth,” mother’s voice is soothing, gentle, “I am always with you, my dear. There is no place you can go that I cannot reach you.”_

_“What’s going on?” I’m filled with dread, fear. Something’s not right but I can’t place it…_

_“Shh,” my father appears in view and it’s funny, I never even heard him approach. “Everything will be okay. You’ve been so strong, my little Hawke. So strong.”_

_“Father,” I pull him into a hug, tears falling but I can’t… I don’t remember why I’m sad. They’re right here, like they’ve always been. Haven’t they always been? “Everything is… what’s going on?”_

_“It’ll be alright, my little Hawke,” father says. Why does he look so sad? When did we stop hugging?_

_“Don’t fight this, love,” mother says, places a hand on my stomach, on my Soulflame. “it will hurt but you must endure. You must fight.”_

_“What will hurt? What’s going on?” panic sets in, dread, fear. What am I missing? It creeps into my mind, the flash of something, a mage? A… a sword? No, it hurts to think about it. I don’t want to think about it. I want to banish the thoughts._

_“Fight, little Hawke,” father’s hand is now touching my stomach, where’s mother? When did father touch me? “It’s not your time yet. Let the healing work.”_

_“Endure, love,” mother is back, they are both there, both touching and I don’t know why. I look down, see the red spread out from under their fingertips. Red? Why is it… red… “Let the healing work. Lead.”_

_Lead? Why am I leading? What am I leading? Why does it hurt, what’s this pain? I want to scream but when I open my mouth nothing comes out._

_“Lead.”_

* * *

 

Hawks gasps loudly, forces the air into her lungs, feels the agony everywhere and all at once. It’s terrible, and there’s the sound of steel on steel but it’s muffled. There are hands holding her down, she knows because the agony causes her to jerk and the hands hold her down. So many hands… Hawke’s eyes search around, she’s scared and doesn’t know what’s going on. Anders, Merrill, Bethany, Fenris. Fenris is pinning her by her shoulders, she sees him most, hovering over her. Anders, Merrill, and Bethany are around her, touching her, pouring magic into her.

She can feel it now, feel her insides stitching themselves back together. It hurts, it’s agony, and she screams. The darkness falls again.

* * *

 

_“What you are looking for is not here.”_

_What am I looking for? I don’t know. I can’t remember anything. Why was I searching for anything? I turn – I wasn’t even aware I was standing – and there I am. It’s me, but not me. We stand in a battlefield, blood and bodies everywhere, and there I am, not more than seven years old._

_“It’s going to disappear,” Younger me says, places a hand over her abdomen. “You can’t have a Soulflame if you’ve got no soul.”_

_I ponder these sage words, nod. “Then what happens to the match?”_

_Young me scrunches her face, thinking hard. “I think it breaks.”_

_“Yes, I believe it does,” I answer like I know what I’m talking about but I don’t. I don’t know anything about Soulflames. I just know that I have one. I’ve always had one. I wonder what it would be like to not have one. I also dread not having one. It’s unique, it’s special, it lets me know I’m loved even when no one loves me. “What does a broken Soulflame look like?”_

_“This,” younger me says and I look. I can’t remember if she was always naked or if she just became naked but above her navel is a Soulflame mark, or it once was. My Soulflame mark is always bright red, like a fresh burn. Hers is dulled, faded, barely able to make out the hilt and the tip of the blade. It looks like it’s fully healing, leaving no trace behind, starts at the center and moves outward._

_I hate it instantly. I hate the healed, smooth flesh in between the two halves of the once whole mark._

_Young me looks very grim when she says, “You have to endure. You have to lead. Let the healing work.”_

* * *

 

Hawke is too weak to open her eyes, too weak to even take a deep breath. She’s faintly aware that she’s being held. Someone’s legs are on either side of her; she’s propped up and leaning against someone. Their arms are wrapped around her. She can feel their chin on the top of her head, feels something wet hit her hair.

There’s a hand rubbing up and down her arm, she can feel cold metal whenever the hand comes in contact with the skin below her sleeves.

She tries to say something but the only thing that leaves her mouth is a rush of air. She feels herself moved suddenly; she’s laid on the ground and she still can’t open her eyes or move or speak. She feels warmth by her mouth, tries to speak again. Nothing but her breath escapes her.

“Bethany!” it’s Fenris’s voice, she’d know it anywhere. He’s so close. Is he the one holding her? “Bethany, she’s breathing!”

There’s shuffling, lots of movement, lots of voices. She can’t bring herself to do anything more than breath but given the reactions she can hear, it sounds like that’s enough for everyone right now.

“She must still be unconscious,” that’s Aveline’s voice. “We should get her into a bed.”

She’s moving again, being lifted. She wants to stiffen her body, wants to protest being carried because she hates this feeling but she can’t do anything. She’s awake, she knows this, but it’s like her body isn’t. It won’t obey any command she tries. She feels herself fading away, doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to go back to the dark place, with the strange dreams.

* * *

 

_No castle, no battlefield. No one. It’s just me. Who am I? Surrounding me are people, but they aren’t people. They could be me except they have no face. There’s no face but they have voices I can hear without hearing._

_One is me from Before. Me before Danarius. Before Fenris._

_There is also Me, a Mercenary. Wielding daggers like I was born with them in my hands. Stronger, better, than the Before Me. I hate myself for thinking that. Before Me is beautiful, emerald green ballgown brushing the ground, long black hair braided and done up so prettily. Before Me is the person my parents raised. I am polite, charming, kind, but ignorant. There is so much I don’t know and that knowledge stabs at me._

_Mercenary Me is gentle, though harsh. Always on high alert, lacking sleep from everything being Too Much. It’s hard to realize this me. It’s me… but it’s not. All the light is gone, drained, nothing but survival. Mercenary Me is me directly after the Before. Mercenary Me is still before Fenris._

_There is a Me that never was. She’s as beautiful as Before Me but on her hand is a wedding ring, a crown upon her head. She wears the Starkhaven colors on her clothes and I know she is who I would have become. She is what I could have been. For all her lack of face, she’s terribly, terribly sad. I can feel the anguish on her and it suffocates me; I need to move away._

_Another Me is twisted, dark. I can feel the negative energy that she holds. She is every lie I’ve ever told, every secret I’ve ever kept. This Me cannot be trusted. I look at her and want to run. I can’t stand what I see even though she’s dressed no differently than Mercenary Me; maybe it’s that she grips her daggers a little tighter, ready to strike. Ready to keep the secrets safe and keep the lies going. If this is how Fenris feels looking upon the Liar I am, I understand now. I would hate me, too._

_I look around and there is so much of Me I don’t know where to go. I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell which is the true Me. Who am I? What am I? Mercenary? Queen? Liar? I sink down, crouch, hide my head between my legs and scream. There’s too much, so much, WHAT AM I?_

_There’s too many to choose from, too much to handle. I don’t know what to do. I want it all to go away. I want to rest._

_I don’t want to think about this anymore. I don’t want to remember._

_I think, perhaps, that I want the healing to work. Why?_

_I touch my Soulflame and send out a prayer. If there is a Maker, somewhere out there, let me forget. Lock away these things I don’t want to see and let me heal._


	8. Chapter 8

Hawke awakens slowly, blinks her eyes open. It’s dark, just the dim moon light coming from the windows. Propped up with what feels like pillows, she’s basically in a sitting position. She feels sore, stiff. It feels like she hasn’t moved in _years_. What happened? How did she get here?

She startles at the sound of someone sighing, looking quickly for the noise. At the end of her bed is an elf, or, well, the top half of an elf. She sits up higher, peers over the edge of the bed to see what he’s sitting on.

It’s a stool.

Hawke rolls her eyes, an immediate reaction that she doesn’t understand. Why does she find this endearing, like she knows him? He’s sitting on a stool, leaned over her bed so that much of his torso is on the bed, legs bent awkwardly. All in all it looks uncomfortable.

“Hello,” Hawke says flatly and she sees him move slightly. “Hey. _Excuse me_.” He does nothing more than move, so she reaches behind herself and grabs a pillow. She tosses it at him weakly (though not because she was trying to throw it softly, more that her muscles didn’t want to move) and it hits him high on his back, rolls down him, and before it can make it to the floor it’s thrown from him as he sits up suddenly. “Uhh.. Hello?”

His startled expression turns to confusion before his eyes go wide. “Maker, you’re _awake_.” He stands quickly, she hears the stool fall with a solid _thump_.

Hawke blinks, “Uh... yes? I mean, it’s obviously a bit late to be waking up but-“ As she is speaking, he is rushing around the bed and she ends up cutting off in the middle of her sentence because he has taken her face in both his hands and is making some intense eye contact. His eyes are a very pretty green she finds herself thinking.

“You’re _alive_ ,” he all but breaths out, his hands leave her face, wrap around her, pull her into a hug that shoves her face directly into his chest.

“Yes?” is all Hawke manages to mutter out, muffled by the fabric of his shirt that’s threatening to suffocate her.

Grabbing her shoulders, he suddenly shoves her back into a sitting position. He holds her there, at arm’s length, his expression grim. “How are you so…” he cuts off, seems to be searching for the right word to use, “normal?”

“I, uhh, I’m not sure what you mean?” Hawke tries to shrug but he has a pretty tight grip going on right now. “Am I not supposed to be normal?”

His face makes many complicated expressions and Hawke can’t read him. Finally, he says, “What do you remember?”

Hawke pauses, thinks. He’s vaguely there in her mind. “I remember… You climbing through a window? Maybe?” She’s thinking, but can’t seem to remember much of anything. A meeting with a mage… Hadriana is the name that comes to her but it means nothing. She was supposed to be making a deal with someone… and him. He came through the window. Why did he come through a window and what window was it? A dull ache starts at the nape of her neck, creeps upwards towards the crown of her head, the more she thinks the more it throbs. “Ah!” She feels a white hot pain rush through her and she lets go of all thoughts. It hurts to try and think of things.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his face softening into a gentle expression.

She studies his face, eyes searching every part of him. He seems so familiar but she can’t remember. There are white lines below his lips, leading down and spreading out. The more she looks, the more she sees. What she can’t figure out is if she knows him. And if she does (or doesn’t) why was he sleeping at the end of her bed? “I… don’t know. It hurts to think.” As an after thought, she adds, “and I’m very thirsty.”

He moves instantly out of her view and is back almost just a quickly, offering her a glass of water. “Here.”

She accepts it and though her intention was to just take a sip she ends up chugging the whole thing without stopping to breath. Having drank the water, it now feels like she hasn’t had anything to drink in months. “Thanks. But, uh, where… where am I?”

He takes the cup, places it down nearby before sitting halfway on the side of her bed, one leg on the bed bent akimbo and the other foot still on the floor. He reaches out and takes one of her hands, holds it gently in both of his, his thumb stroking the back of her hand gently. “You’re in your room. Bethany had you brought here. Thought it might make you feel better if you woke up to something familiar.”

She nods slowly. Bethany. That’s her… sister? Yeah, her younger sister. Why is Bethany making any decisions for her? “Right. Bethany. Where is she?”

An amused expression comes to his face then, a small smile that seems more like a smirk than a smile. “Well, her own bed I assume. Can’t imagine there’d be anywhere else she’d be at this hour.”

“Could be asleep on Carver’s floor,” Hawke says absently, “they do that sometimes. Hard to be apart when you’ve been together for so long.” She blinks, wonders why she’s sharing anything with him. She looks to him, the amused expression on his face turning into something gentler, softer. Intimate, almost. He moves one of his hands to the side of her face, slowly. She just watches, isn’t sure if she wants to stop him or not, but then it’s too late to stop him because he’s cupping her cheek softly, looking at her with eyes that make her feel weak. Well, weaker.

He leans in close and Hawke tenses. What’s he doing? He pulls back, his face worried. “Hawke?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it. Who is he to address her to informally? To use a nickname only her siblings use? Opening her mouth again she manages, “Who are you?”

“What?”

“Who are you? And why are you in my room?” she asks again, and then feels bad for asking. He looks so _hurt_ suddenly and she doesn’t like that expression on his face. But at the same time, she needs to know why a random elf is here. Did something happen and she needed to be watched? But if so, what happened? Why would a _male stranger_ be stationed _in her bedroom_?

“You don’t… remember me?”

Hawke shrugs, “no? Should I?”

He stands abruptly, drops her hand and she immediately misses the contact. Why? “I need to… I’ll be back.”

He all but runs from her room and she’s left confused. She doesn’t know what’s going on. She throws the blankets off herself, swings her legs over the side of the bed and attempts to stand. Her legs are weak and she’s so shaky (how hadn’t she noticed that?) so it takes several tries before her legs will hold her weight. Even so, taking a step is hard and she has to balance herself, uses her bed as something to stabilize herself with. She’s only managed to hobble to the end of her bed, arms wrapped around the post to her canopy, when several people file into her room.

All of them are strangers.

“Hawke!” a woman exclaims, rushes forward to help her.

Hawke steps forward and the woman stabilizes her, hands on Hawke’s arms. Hawke squints at her, and Hawke recognizes her, but not as she stands before her. “Bethany?”

“Oh, you remember!” Bethany sighs and it sounds like relief. She turns to look over her shoulder at the group of strangers and says, “guess she just need to wake up more to remember.”

“No, I don’t remember,” Hawke says, pulls her arms from Bethany’s grip. She’s scared now (why hadn’t the strange elf scared her?) and feels the panic bubble inside her. She shakes her head, takes a step back, grips the canopy pole again. “I don’t understand! You can’t be Bethany! Why do you… who are you?”

‘Bethany’ looks hurt and Hawke would be convinced it was genuine if this was actually Bethany. “I _am_ Bethany, Hawke! It’s me, your sister. Remember? When I was five and you were twelve, we both demanded to be called Beth. Remember that?”

Hawk does remember. It had been so much fun, and super silly of them. They’ve both answer to it, and purposely sent the wrong ‘Beth’ when one of them was summoned for being in trouble. “A lot of people know that. Any one of the castle servants could tell you that! You can’t possibly be Bethany.”

“And why not?” ‘Bethany’ asks.

“Because Bethany is _twelve_!”

The gasps of shock only add to the panic Hawke is feeling. Something’s obviously wrong but she can’t remember what. How can this woman before her be Bethany? Who are these people?

“Hawke,” a man steps forward, blonde haired and wearing mage’s robes. A healer, perhaps? “how old are you?”

The question throws her off, she has to stop and think. “Nineteen? I think? I don’t…” she trails off because her head starts to hurt again and she brings one of her hands up to her head, as if she can put pressure on it to stop the pain. “Who are you?”

“My name is Anders,” the mage replies. “Can I approach you?”

Hawke nods because she doesn’t know what else to do. She’s suddenly numb. He helps her back into her bed, frowning the entire time, looking deeply concerned. She doesn’t like that. He bids her to sleep, that he would return in the morning to sort out everything. Hawke can only nod.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

It seems like too much to deal with, this knowledge they’ve given her. The mage, Anders, had returned that morning, spoke softly with her. Told her she wasn’t nineteen, she was _twenty-four_. Five years of her life just… gone. She can’t remember ever being older yet she also can’t remember specifics of her life at nineteen.

It’s too much to take in, and she is shamed now about it, but when he spoke to her she’d lashed out in anger. Screamed at him, threw anything she could get her hands on around the room, cried.

That was six days ago.

She’s not adjusting _well_ per se, but she’s quit arguing with everyone. There’s much they aren’t telling her, she’s not stupid. She can see the way the hush up, exchange nervous glances, when she asks where mother is. Where Evelyn is. What happened to half the items that used to be in her room?

They tiptoe around her, minding what they say and how they say it. Bethany and Carver are the worst, and also the hardest for Hawke to talk to. They’re the only people from this group of strangers that she _knows_ but they aren’t the siblings she knows anymore. They’ve grown and something has hardened them, twisted the innocence of their souls it would seem.

Aveline is another familiar face but Hawke doesn’t _know_ her. Just knows she’s the daughter of her mother’s personal guardsman. Another woman, Isabela, is enjoyable to have around because she doesn’t try to make Hawke think and remember things. She just shows up and talks a lot but Hawke doesn’t mind because it’s always about the latest gossip she’s heard (and even though Hawke doesn’t recognize half the names said, it’s _juicy_ stuff and she loves listening). Anders comes by often, he’s made himself her healer apparently. He tries to make her remember things, marks stuff down in a book and frowns a lot. There’s a dwarf that stops by frequently, Varric he’s named, and he just likes to play Wicked Grace. Hawke enjoys his company more than the rest.

Well, not more than the elf’s presence. Fenris. He never says much, which makes her sad because she loves the sound of his voice, but he does usually bring food when he shows up, which is absolutely amazing. He is also the only person that encourages her to get out of bed. Helps her walk and stretch those unused muscles since she’s apparently been in the bed a long time before suddenly waking with no memory.

He’s here now, having just helped her from bed, one hand held out for her to grab onto in case she falls. She’s much stronger now, though, doesn’t actually need his help getting out of bed but she enjoys it, so she never denies him.

“So. Who are you?” Hawke asks because she’s curious. She knows a lot about the others, but Fenris doesn’t talk.

“Would you believe me if I said I was the Dalish Ambassador?” There’s a look on his face, like he’s just told a hilarious joke and she should be laughing at it. Hawke gives him what she hopes is a very dry, unamused look. “Alright, you got me. I’m just a servant.”

“I’m calling bullshit on that,” Hawke says.

“Oh? And what else would I be?” Fenris raises an eyebrow. “I am, after all, an elf here in Kirkwall just trying to make my way anywhere but an alienage.”

Hawke is silent, because she knows that’s a truth. If an elf wanted out of the alienage, the best way was either servitude or mercenary work. She was more inclined to say mercenary than servant. “You can’t possibly be a servant. You take orders very poorly.”

“Oh? And what brings this conclusion to your mind?”

“I can hear you arguing with my healer. A lot. Argue with everyone a lot actually,” Hawke looks at him out of the corner of her eye, “my door makes it hard to make out what words your saying, but I can certainly still hear your voice with how passionate you become about… whatever it is.”

He chuckles, “I’ll try and be less passionate.”

“Oh please don’t. I like hearing your voice,” Hawke says and reddens instantly. She hadn’t meant to say that but she’s always been such an honest and open person – it’s why the nobility of Kirkwall adore her. “I’m sorry. That was very forward of me.”

“Heh,” is all Fenris replies with. It’s quiet and Hawke knows their conversation is over. She doesn’t understand why he gets like this but she won’t pry. Won’t push him to talk when he doesn’t want to. Oh Maker, and she’s just confessed she likes his voice and now he’s not talking. She’s gone and made everything awkward now. They do several laps around her room in silence before he leads her to bed but she refuses to get in it.

He leaves without saying goodbye.

Hawke frowns at the door after he’s left. She hates being locked in here. Hates that no one will be open and honest with her. Her hand wonders up, rests over the Soulflame mark above her navel. She finds comfort in placing her hand over it. Her mother used to tell her to keep her hand off her stomach, ever since she was just a little girl, but she does it anyway.

Removing her hand, Hawke pulls at her chemise. Pulls it up and over, throws it to the ground. She’s been laying around in that stupid dirty dress since she woke up and she’s tired of it. She’s tired of the not knowing, too. Hawke decides she’s going to find out something today. Some sort of truth.

It doesn’t take her long to locate a pair or trousers, pulls those on and ties them up with the drawstring stitched in. Grabs her tunic and the breast binder she uses when she’s going to be sparring. She moves to her mirror so she can see if the binder is wrapped right and freezes at what she sees.

A scar, almost as long as her palm is wide, cleanly cuts her Soulflame in two. She lets out a cry, feels the tears form instantly, brings her hands up to hold her Soulflame like it’s a fresh injury. When did this happen? _How_ did this happen? Why was her Soulflame _broken_? She pressed two fingers against the scar, digs into her own stomach, gasps as thoughts flash through her mind –

_“Call off your man! My life, Andraste curse you, my life!” - Fenris falls, he’s in danger and she has to save him, Danarius cannot have him-_

She has to force lungs into her air, breathes deeply and flings her hand away from her stomach. Those were… memories? And was it her voice she heard saying my life? Why was Fenris in danger? She needs answers, so she throws the tunic on and marches out of her room.

The marble halls are cold, she hadn’t bothered with any footwear she realizes, but it doesn’t matter. She needs to find someone, anyone, to talk to. To demand answers from.

Without thinking, her body leads her to her mother’s study, the place where her mother would conduct all important business. Hawke wasn’t allowed in it for the longest time. That thought stops her hand as she reaches for the doorknob. No. She _needs_ answers. She reaches out, twists the knob, and throws the door open, steps into the room. The door bangs off the wall and the people in the room turn to look at her.

Bethany, Carver, Aveline and… Varric? Her mother isn’t anywhere to be seen but the sinking feeling in her chest makes her think she might know why.

“Hawke! What are you-“ Aveline starts but Hawke cuts her off.

“Who is Danarius?” She demands. Everyone in the room looks uncomfortable; they exchange looks. Hawke feels the anger boil up from deep within her. “Who is Danarius!”

“That’s a lot to answer,” Carver says, the first to speak. “It’s…. complicated. What do you remember?”

Again, Hawke brings her hand up to rest above her Soulflame. Closes her eyes and concentrates. The thinking doesn’t hurt as much this time. “A battle, I think? Fighting is happening for sure. And Fenris. Fenris falls and, Maker, it’s all fuzzy but I think that… Danarius wants him? But I can’t… I can’t let Danarius have him.” She opens her eyes and her vision is blurry from tears that threaten to fall. She’s sad, scared, so very very scared, but can’t remember _why_. “Who. Is. Danarius?”

“He was a magister from Tevinter,” Varric says, and by the looks every shoots him, he probably wasn’t supposed to. There’s a reason Hawke likes him best of all these people. “Look, if you want the full story you have to ask Fenris. That’s his story to tell. All I can say is that you don’t have to worry about Danarius getting what he wants anymore.”

“I don’t know where to find Fenris,” she says.

“The room next to library,” Bethany says, “That’s where he’s been sleeping. You should try there.”

Hawke locks eyes with her sister and there’s an understanding that happens. Hawke nods, knows that when she leaves here, she isn’t going to be chased down, dragged back to bed.

The walk to the library is quick but she ends up just hovering outside the room Fenris is staying in. She can’t bring herself to actually knock on the door. She wants answers, she does, but getting those answers means acknowledging that she has, indeed, forgotten five years of her life.

“Hawke?”

She spins quickly, sees Fenris behind her, a questioning expression on his face. He wasn’t even in his room, must just now be heading back to it.

“I think I had a memory,” Hawke blurts because she doesn’t know how to start a conversation without jumping right into it. “About you.”

Fenris tenses, she can see he’s visibly uncomfortable, “What was your memory.”

It should be weird that it's not even posed as a question, so she answers with a question of her own. “Who is Danarius?”

If Hawke thought Fenris was tense before, it’s nothing compared to now. His entire body looks ready to bolt, to run to safety as soon as he can. “He was a lot of things to a lot of people. None of them good.”

“He wanted you,” Hawke says, “I can’t remember why. But he wanted you and I couldn’t let him have you. I need to know _why_ , Fenris.”

“Hawke,” Fenris lets out a sigh, seems defeated. “Come on.” He opens the door to the library, heads in. Hawke follows, confused. He leads her to a reading corner, where several chairs are sat in front of a fireplace. He takes a seat in one, so Hawke plops down in one across from him. “I was a slave. Am technically still one according to Tevinter. Danarius was the man I once called master.”

Hawke nods, she’s not sure what to do with this information. It’s _new_ but also not? She’s not surprised to hear it, to have this very personal thing revealed to her like she deserves the knowledge. Had she once already known this? “I’m sorry, Fenris, but I… I meant that I need to know why I couldn’t let him have you.”

Fenris looks her over, “I’ve been asking myself that same thing for a while now. I don’t have that answer for you, Hawke. You’re the only person that knows why you wouldn’t return a slave to his master.”

Hawke doesn’t mean to, but she scoffs, and Fenris glares at her. “You can’t _own_ someone, so obviously that’s why I wouldn’t be okay with returning supposed slaves to their supposed owners.”

“There was nothing supposed about it.”

“Of course there was! What right does one person have to own another? You can’t just return people to someone like they’re… they’re some lost item you found,” Hawke frowns. Fenris is looking at her oddly, like he’s both in awe and in great pain. “Fenris?”

He shakes his head, sighs and leans back into the chair, looking up to the ceiling. “It’s nothing Hawke. Just… realizing something a little too late is all.”

“You can speak plainly to me,” Hawke huffs, “everyone always speaks like that. Like it’s a riddle for me to figure out later.”

“I had accused you of many things before,” Fenris admits, looks back to her, “but the more I talk to you, the more I realize my accusations were unfounded. Even now, even as royalty, you’re still the same Hawke I’ve always known.”

She’s got no idea what he’s ever accused her of or what he means by ‘even as royalty' (because when has she never _not_ been royalty?) but the words still make her feel better about herself. She stands then, moves quickly to stand in front of him, looks down at meet his eyes, “Tell me what happened, Fenris. You’re the only one who will speak candidly with me and I need to know.”

Fenris contemplates her demand before shaking his head. “Anders thinks it might not be healthy for you to force your memories. And as much as I _hate_ to agree with him, I do think he’s right.”

Hawke stomps away with an angry yell, kicking a chair on her way passed it. She starts searching the library, pulls books off the shelf and begins piling them on a table. She moves around the entire library, gathering any book that might be helpful. She'll get answers, one way or another.

“What are you doing?” Fenris has risen from his chair, is standing next to her table of books holding one and examining it like he expects it to bite him at any moment.

“Research,” Hawke answers, “since no one else seems to have any answers, maybe I can find something in these.”

“And… what is contained in them?”

“Well, the one in your hand is History of Healing Magic. Got several books on that topic, as well as several books of illnesses and diseases. Maybe memory loss is in one of them? And this,” she reaches out and picks up a single thin book, bound in brown leather. “This is the only book in this entire library that has _anything_ to do with Soulflames. Maybe it will have answers.”

Fenris drops his book onto the table, “this is a lot of books to read.”

“If you helped, it would take less time,” Hawke gives him a hopeful smile.

“I can’t read,” Fenris replies with a shrug, as though those words don’t mean anything more than if he’s just told her his least favorite color, “it’s not exactly the first thing taught to any slave.”

“You aren’t a slave,” Hawke snaps, “I could teach you. I’m a rather good teacher. I helped Bethany and Carver learn.”

Fenris blinks at her, rests a hand on a book, “I couldn’t-“

“You can and you will,” Hawke interrupts, “there’s absolutely no reason you couldn’t learn.”

“Why would I even need to?”

“Knowledge is power, Fenris,” Hawke says, and as she says it the words resonate with her. She hadn’t thought much about it until she said it, but now she understands her need to _know_. Knowledge is power, and there’s so much she’s missing of her own life. It makes all the people around her have power over her. That doesn’t sit right. “Maybe that’s why Tevinter only teaches its mages anything. Don’t want anyone else gaining power.”

“It has been my experience that _power_ is power,” Fenris says flippantly.

“Yeah, well I feel pretty powerless without my memory, so it’s been my experience that knowledge is pretty damn high on that power scale,” Hawke opens the Soulflame book with a bit more force than necessary.

“Once you get your memory back,” Fenris says after a few minutes of quiet, “if your offer to teach me still stands, maybe then I could learn. To read.”

Hawke peers at him from over her book. He’s not looking at her. Instead he seems daunted by the number of books on the table. “Well, alright then. You’ll learn once I remember more then.” She looks back down to her book about Soulflames. When she was younger she would beg her mother to let her read it. She wanted to know everything and anything she could about the mark on her stomach. Mother used to deny her until Hawke was a little older. Hawke remembers the one time she got to read it in the library but it wasn’t what she had thought it would be. As a child she had been hoping the book would hold more answers than it had and she’d abandoned wanting to read it after that one disappointment.

She’s older now. Maybe she’ll actually get through the whole thing this time.

“I do have a question,” Fenris’s voice pulls her from her thoughts and she looks up but he isn’t standing where she last saw him. A quick scan of the library has him sitting in his chair again. Once eye contact has been established, he continues, “What do you hope to find in your Soulflame book?”

“Oh, uhh, I’m not sure what I’m hoping to find,” Hawke answers, “it’s just… my memory. It came to me when I’d pressed on my mark. I guess I’m just hoping to learn that there might be a connection to memory loss and Soulflames.” She looks down the book in her hands. The Soulflame book is old and delicate. It was hand written by a chantry sister hundreds of year ago, when Soulflames were more commonplace. It’s weird to think that something so incredible rare used to be common. According to the book, when the Maker first bestowed the marks everyone had one.

“I know you don’t remember this, but the first time we talked about Soulflames you had to explain them to me,” Fenris says, “You made it sound like everyone knew about Soulflames.”

“Everyone I know does,” Hawke replies, “but I think they might all know the stories about them _because_ of me. Having a princess born with the Soulflame causes some conversation in the castle. The staff is sworn to secrecy about it but I’m sure they’ve all read the stories around it because of my birth.”

“So, what’s the story?”

Hawke grins, abandons the books on the table and sits in the chair across from Fenris again. “I would be delighted to tell you. I used to demand that mother tell me it every night before bed. I’ve got it memorized.” She wiggles her eyebrow playfully and Fenris just rewards her with an eyeroll.

“There was once a time when everyone was born with a Soulflame. A gift from the Maker. Everyone married for love, they say. Everything changed with Andraste. She was born with _two_ Soulflames, side by side. One matching her mortal husband, Maferath. The second, it was later discovered, was her match to the Maker.

“Soulflames used to slightly red - just quiet marks upon the skin, but after Maferath betrayed Andraste, the Maker was angry. He striped all of the marks, leaving us to stumble into love with no help, or worse yet, to be fated to never find it. Andraste, by his side, asked that he take pity upon us. It was not the whole that betrayed her.

“So he did. The Soulflame returned to us, a burned mark upon the skin to match the horrible deed done to his Bride, but not everyone was worthy of the Soulflame anymore. The Maker granted them to only those who would never betray their match. It was the compromise Andraste had made – Soulflame’s would only belong to people who would cherish and honor them always.

“But with every terrible deed done, the Maker found less and less people worthy. After all, the Maker had marked his own love upon Andraste; with all the cruelty in the world how could any of us be worthy of the same mark? The breach upon the Golden City was the final straw. The Marker took his gift back. None were worthy anymore,” Hawke pauses now, frowns. Her hand moves to cover her Soulflame mark. With a shake of her head, she continues, “It was almost seventy-five years after the start of the first Blight before anyone was born with another Soulflame. They’ve been few and far between since then. My mother used to say that it was Andraste granting them now to only very special people. Used to make me feel good about my Soulflame.”

“Then why did you allow an arranged marriage to be made when you cherished your mark so much?” Fenris asks.

An anger flares up in Hawke and she bites her tongue against any remarks. This must be another one of those things that Fenris remembers about her that she doesn’t. Pushing the anger down, she replies, “I have a duty to my people as the eldest born. Also, I am afraid that mother will offer Bethany instead,” She frowns, realizes what she’s said, “Sorry. That mother _would_ have. She’s not alive, is she?”

Fenris makes a choking noise and Hawke lifts her head to look at him. “No. She’s not.”

Hawke lets her head fall back, feels tears form. “I guessed as much. No one will answer me when I ask for her and there’s no reason she wouldn’t be by my side right now unless-“ she cuts off, sucks in a shaking breath. She doesn’t want to cry in the library but a sob leaves her anyway. She _hates_ this. It’s not fair that she can’t remember her own mother’s death. She has no details of it – did sickness take her? Has a ship sunk while she was visiting a neighboring land?

Fenris pulls her from her chair and she lets him. He says nothing, just pulls her into a hug and lets her cry into his tunic.

Once all her sobbing has slowed she pulls back, uses the sleeve of her tunic to dry her face. “This is the second time I’ve had to lose my mother, isn’t it? Did I cry the first time?”

Fenris frowns, “I wasn’t there the first time, so I couldn’t say. The only admission you gave me was long after she passed. You confessed to me that you hadn’t made peace with it yet.”

“Thank you, Fenris,” Hawke whispers. She can’t seem to make her voice louder. Standing like this now, head up instead of leaned into his shoulder, she’s almost at eye level with him. They’re basically the same height, which is nice, she thinks, because she can see how green his eyes are easily.

Fenris coughs and steps back. His face darkens with a blush, and though Hawke doesn’t truly understand what brought it on, she feels her own face grow warm. She steps back, too, puts slightly more distance between them.

“Will you help me carry these back to my room?” she asks, moves away to start gathering books in her arms. “I wouldn’t ask except I don’t think I can carry them all on my own.”

“Of course,” Fenris answers, moves to help gather books, “I’d be happy to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen guys. liSTEN. i have been taken over by this story and it is consuming my life. That's all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for late update. My family got a new puppy and she requires, apparently, only my supervision 24 hours a day, at all time, always.

“Thank you,” Hawke says, setting her books down on the chair in front of her vanity, “Just set them down wherever you can. I’ll arrange them later.”

Fenris nods and sets them in a chair near her door. She smiles at him and watches as he leaves. She doesn’t want him to go but since she has no reason for him to stay she remains silent.

That night she dreams of a sparring match and stolen kisses.

She awakens and spends most of the morning blushing because she won’t stop thinking about the dream. It was the most vivid dream she’s ever had, like a memory more than a dream. She checks her mirror in the morning for a scar on her shoulder where the sword would have scratched her but there’s nothing there. It must have been just a dream… unless the incident happened long enough ago for her to have fully healed?

Shaking her head, she tries to rid herself of that thought. She shouldn’t be trying to justify her fantasy for Fenris when she’s obligated to marry another man. After all, it was Fenris who has reminded her of that yesterday.

After breakfast she asks Bethany about Starkhaven.

“Everything about Starkhaven is different now,” Bethany says, which isn’t really an answer.

“Because of mother’s death?”

“How did you-“ Bethany cuts herself off, “Nevermind. You were bound to figure it out. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. You were already in so much pain.”

“I understand, Bethany,” Hawke gives a sad smile, “but I’ve got to start remembering sometime. After all, I’m. Oh Maker. I’m the _queen_ now,” the realization washes over her and she can feel the color drain from her. She feels freezing cold suddenly.

“It’s ok, Hawke,” Bethany grabs her hand, reassures her, “Carver and I have this. Once you get your memory back we’ll have a coronation and everything. For now, just let your baby siblings take care of you for a change.”

Hawke squeezes her sister’s hand, “Thank you. I guess that, since I’m queen, I don’t have to marry Sebastian if I don’t want to.”

“I think you’ll be happy to know that you don’t have to marry him,” Bethany smiles, “that arrangement was broken a while ago if I’ve been told correctly. You’re a free woman, Hawke.”

“Free, huh,” Hawke whispers and Fenris’s face immediately comes to her mind. She banishes his image as quickly as she can. “This is a lot to take in. I think I’ll be my room for the rest of the morning. Read as much as I can.”

Bethany bids her goodbye and they part ways.

Hawke spends the better part of the next month either in her room or in the library. Everyone she’s supposed to know has joined her at some point or another, most even help her look through books though Isabela would rather gossip and Varric would rather play Wicked Grace. It’s nice, though, to have distractions because Hawke may be literate but she’s never been one to just shut herself away and read.

As usual, her favorite time is when Fenris visits. When Fenris has first come by while she was researching the quiet that blanketed them felt awkward. Fenris couldn’t help her read through the books and when she stopped reading to focus on him, he would mutter an apology for taking her from the books and then slip from the room. Things changed on his fifth visit, when Hawke had just started reading the book out loud.

Fenris just sat and listened at first and slowly it progressed to her bouncing questions off him to help her think. It was much better than the silence that had first fallen on them and now, almost a month later, Hawke was slowly teaching him letters. He wouldn’t cave in and be allowed to be taught, but she’d point out words in the books every now and then until he’d catch on and pull back from her.

It was nice.

The month has also been littered with random bits of returned memory that made no sense. Every now and then Hawke will be talking to someone and pressing on her Soulflame and a memory will surface, pulled from the depths of her mind with pain.

A chat with Merril and - _and she sits next to Carver, just enough distance between them to not be touching. Hawke tries not to watch but she sees Merrill place a hand on the grass in the space between them, sees Carver place his hand near Merrill’s, fingertips brushing hers_ – and though Hawke can’t place its significance, she remembers.

Varric - “ _Good look for you, Hawke!” Varric calls out and he’s talking about her hair_ – but the pain is too much and she can’t remember anything else.

Isabela _\- “You’ve spoken to Fenris?” “Yes,” Isabela shrugs, “we shared a tent last night. Not much talking going on but he did have a few opinions to share when I asked.” And Hawke’s stomach drops to her knees_ – this memory hurt so much she had let out a scream and collapsed to her knees. Isabela had been so worried, had fretted over her most of the day after that.

A fight between Anders and Fenris is all she can recall for Anders.

For Aveline she’s got a flash of them back to back, a battle around them, and Aveline tells her to run and - _“No,” Hawke says fiercely. “Lead.” She throws herself into the battle with everything she’s got._

Today though, Hawke is propped up by pillows in her bed alone, skimming through her third book of the day with no new memories. So far none of the books have any answers. They all seem to say the same thing, just worded slightly differently by the author. Hawke isn’t a mage, but she’s sure wishing she could have attended some of the same lessons Bethany was given. It’s all so complicated sounding and she’s not sure she understands most of what’s being talked about. But there’s no references to memory in them so far, which is what she has been looking for.

Someone knocks at the door and she hollers for them to come in without looking up.

“Afternoon.” The voice is Fenris’s.

“Afternoon,” she replies, looks up over the book to see he’s holding a tray with two cups on it. He uses his foot to close her door again. “Is that tea?”

“Indeed,” Fenris gives her a half smile and she flings her book onto the nightstand.

“You are my most favorite person in the whole castle, did you know that?” Hawke makes grabby hands at the tea, her favorite beverage, and Fenris chuckles as he hands it to her. She breaths it in, taking in the wonderful herby smell before sipping the hot drink. “Mmm. Thank you. I needed a little afternoon pick me up.”

“Bethany said you were going to lock yourself away for the day,” Fenris sets the tray on the nightstand on the other side of the bed from her. “She thought it would be a good idea to bring you some tea.”

“She asked you to bring me tea?” Hawke raises an eyebrow.

“No. She asked Isabela, who pawned it off on Varric, who handed it off to Carver, who found me the floor below here and asked me to take it the rest of the way,” Fenris shrugs, “that’s what Carver said happened anyway. Could be that the whole thing was Carver’s idea until he got up three sets of stairs and decided he didn’t want to slosh tea the rest of the way up.”

Hawke laughs, holding her tea up and away from herself to make sure it won’t splash over the side of the cup. “Well, so glad everyone _wanted_ to see me today!”

“Hey now, can you blame them? Your room is ridiculously far away from the kitchen.”

“And yet, that never stopped me from sneaking down for a late-night snack,” Hawke quips back with a smile. “Thank you, Fenris. I appreciate it.”

“Get any information from your reading today?” Fenris sits on the edge of her bed, one leg folded on the bed and the other on the floor. She’s reminded of when she first woke up and he sat much the same way, only closer.

“No. It’s all so… magical. As silly as that sounds. It’s not material that’s easy to comprehend I guess. Or maybe I’m just the only person who doesn’t understand anything about magic. It was easier to read the books about diseases and illnesses, honestly.”

Fenris frowns, looks as though he’s thinking deeply about something. “I was going to say lucky you but I’m not sure I believe that.”

“Lucky me how?”

“I used to hate magic. Still do most of the time,” Fenris says, then gives her a _look_. That knowing look everyone gives her every now and then, tangled with sadness and regret. “but I can’t hate it so much because magic brought you back to me. To all of us! You’re here. Because magic.”

He’s trying to rescue his sentence but Hawke isn’t hearing anything past ‘back to me’ because she has wonderful selective hearing. Everyone told her so when she was growing up. “What happened?”

Fenris searches her face for something. He must find it, because he says, “You were greatly injured, Hawke. No one was sure you’d… but you’re here. You’re alive. That’s all the matters.” He stands, heads towards the door. Hawke scampers out of bed, barely manages to set her tea on her nightstand without it falling off as she hurries after him.

“You don’t have to leave, Fenris,” she says, reaches out and grabs his arm because it’s the closest thing she can reach.

Instantly he starts to glow, the tattoos light up brightly, and suddenly she’s against the door, he has one hand on the door next to her head and the other is pulled slightly behind him, clenched in a fist. She’s not entirely sure what happened but for a moment Fenris looks _scared_ before that gives way to a sadder expression and he unclenches his hand. The glow dies down and he lets out a sigh. The hand next to her head starts to move, “Sorry you-“

He doesn’t get to finish because she rushes forward, grabs his tunic and uses it to pull him close and kisses him. He doesn’t respond right away and Hawke is so afraid she’s made the biggest mistake of her life but then he presses forward, kisses back, pins her between him and the door. His hand not on the door comes up to rest on her cheek and she moves her hands up, slings one around his neck, the other continues up to his hair. It’s soft, and she runs her fingers through it gently.

Fenris makes a growling noise in the back of his throat and it makes Hawke’s entire body feel hot. His hand on the door moves down to her side, slides around to her lower back and pulls her body as close to his at it can get. The hand on her face moves and grabs her wrist, leads her hand down and under his shirt. This feels familiar, she knows this, thinks vaguely that she might _remember_ this, but she doesn’t want to stop kissing him long enough to concentrate on that, so instead she touches his abdomen lightly, runs her hand up and down, touching all she can reach. He breaks the kiss to let out a low hiss and somewhere in her mind she thinks _that means it feels good. He likes that_.

She moves her other hand to join her first, runs her hands around his sides to his back. Rubs along the muscles under his shoulder blades, runs down along his spine, drags her palms back up, massages every bit of him her hands can find. He hums pleasantly, lowers his head to press soft kisses to her lips as she massages. Soft kisses that slowly deepen and he shifts his stance, slides one leg between hers, presses so tightly against her that she doesn’t even have room to _think_. She feels his arousal then, pressing against her leg.

She moves her hands down and back to his front. She runs a hand across the bulge in his trousers and he _whines_ so she moves her hands to his belt, gets it almost undone before Fenris pulls back. Confused she looks up to his face. He’s breathing heavily, his face flushed, and she can see he looks conflicted.

“Hawke, we can’t-“

She grabs his tunic and tugs him to the left, spins them so he’s pinned against the door and he blinks in surprise. Her hands finish undoing his belt but she pauses, looks up from watching her hands to ask, “Do you really want me to stop?”

She feels now that everything they’ve done has brought them to this point. He’s the person around the most, the one she wants to be around most, and though she shouldn’t even be entertaining ideas like this, she _wants_ him. She’s never wanted any other person the way she wants Fenris. It’s apparent that he wants her, too, but she waits to hear his answer.

“Maker, no. No, but-“ He cuts off with a strangled whimper sound because she’s shoved her hand down his trousers and taken ahold of his cock. She uses her other hand to shove down the front of his trousers, frees his cock so she can easily run her hand up and down its length.

“I want to do this, Fenris, but only if you want me to,” Hawke says, pauses her hand to wait for Fenris’s answer.

“Don’t stop,” he breaths out and it’s good enough. She’s not entirely sure what she’s doing, but Fenris seems to be enjoying it so she won’t stop. She runs her thumb across his tip, feels the slickness that’s gathered there. Finds she wants to taste him. She kneels, and Fenris sucks in a sharp breath. She looks up at him.

“Queens bow for no one,” he whispers out, moves a hand to slide through her hair softly. She doesn’t know what to say to this (or even how Fenris has heard the phrase since her mother was the only person she knew who said it), so instead she just meets his eye before she opens her mouth to take just the tip of him in. She watches as his eyes roll up in his head before it falls backwards, banging against the door. The hand in her hair tightens slightly before he seems to regain control again, pets her head instead.

She runs her tongue around him and can hear him shudder. She finds that she loves the noises she can pull from him. She wraps her lips around him and sucks, uses her hand to jerk him still since she can’t take him deeply into her mouth without her eyes watering, but she tries anyway. She’s never done this before but she’s a well-read woman and has heard many stories from Isabela and the castle servants. She’s got a pretty good idea of what to do, and Fenris certainly isn’t complaining.

Her jaw is starting to hurt, and she thinks she might have to stop, when Fenris lets out another whine, the hand petting her stops on the back of her head and grips her hair. It’s not hard enough to pull; keeps her still and he pumps himself into her mouth, her eyes water and she gags and he comes. Hawke is surprised, swallows around him because she doesn’t know what else to do before he slips from her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Fenris blurts and she looks up at him. She can’t place the look on his face but it’s _definitely_ not the one she was hoping to see. He seems upset. “I didn’t mean to, I just couldn’t- I don’t know what- I’m sorry.”

Hawke stands as he speaks, pulls his trousers back up when she does so. She doesn’t like the look on Fenris’s face, like he’s done something wrong. “Fenris, you’ve nothing to apologize for.”

“I shouldn’t have done that. Should have warned you so you could have stopped.”

“Why would I have wanted to _stop_?” Hawke asks and that earns her a new look from Fenris. She not sure what it is, either, but it looks good, “A warning would have been nice but I wouldn’t have stopped. I enjoyed that, Fenris, possibly as much as you did.”

Fenris pulls her in for a kiss. Hawke melts against him, feels so safe and content in his arms. She doesn’t want him to ever leave.

There’s a quick series of knocks on Hawke’s door that startles her. Fenris pulls away from her faster than she can comprehend and soon she’s just standing in front of her door, hand still in the air from where she’d been resting it on Fenris’s chest. She blinks and few times and looks over her shoulder to see that Fenris is near her vanity redoing his belt. She doesn’t pull the door open until he’s done.

“Hello,” Bethany greets with a smile. “Just wanted to make sure Isabela got you your tea!”

Hawke barks out a laugh, “Well, Fenris ended up with it but yes, I have acquired the tea.”

“Oh good,” Bethany smiles before looking into Hawke’s room. Once she spots Fenris she waves at him. He raises a hand in return but doesn’t actually wave it. Bethany turns back to Hawke but before Hawke looks back to her sister she sees Fenris turn red. It’s adorable. “Will you be down for lunch?”

“I think not,” Hawke replies, “I’m not hungry.”

Bethany shrugs, “alright then. How goes your reading?”

“Ugh,” Hawke groans and steps back from the door, invites Bethany in with a gesture of her hand. She turns and heads to her bed, going around to her nightstand to grab the book she had abandoned there. “I don’t understand magic. I think I’ll need your help going over the books about magic. Otherwise, there’s very little recorded about memory loss. And in all cases, the memory loss has occurred because of some sort of trauma to the head.”

“You’ve done a lot of reading,” Bethany eyes the mounds of book scattered across Hawke’s bed and then holds out her hands for the book Hawke is holding; Hawke tosses it across the bed to her.

“I had to have Fenris help carry a lot of the books here, right Fenris?” Hawke asks, looks towards her vanity but Fenris isn’t there. She scans the room but he’s gone. Why did he leave?

“You seem to be taking this memory loss thing a lot better lately,” Bethany comments, is trying to come off uninterested but Hawke isn’t convinced.

“There’s no point in hiding in my room, terrified of the truth and the fact the world has changed,” Hawke shrugs, reaches out to play with her blanket, “plus it feels so familiar to be around everyone. I remember things without remembering them.”

“I would like very much for you to clarify that statement,” Bethany flops belly first onto Hawke’s bed and reached out to prod Hawke in the gut.

Hawke steps back, out of the way of her sister’s hand, “like I remember feelings more than actions. I remember feeling fierce friendship with Varric, and it easily shows in our conversations. I barely know anything about him beyond his name yet it never feels weird to be alone with him playing Wicked Grace.”

A slow smirk spreads across Bethany’s face, “and I suppose with how much time you spend with Fenris you must feel close to him, too, hmm?”

“I think I love him,” the words fall from Hawke and she isn’t even surprised to find them true. Being near Fenris is easy and the way he is around her, always near but afraid to touch. Like he’s holding himself back from something he’d normally indulge in. That, coupled with what just happened.... well, it makes Hawke feel like he might love her, too.

Bethany lets out a chocked coughing sound and wriggles herself off Hawke’s bed, eyes slightly wider than normal. “ _What_?”

Hawke frowns because she had been expecting a different reaction. “I… I assume that Fenris and I were in a relationship prior to my memory loss.” Hawke turns red, now, thinking about it, “He’s just always around, he was here when I woke up, looking so concerned and relieved. I just- I thought we might?”

Bethany licks her lips before she says, “you never told me you were. But there… there was a whole lot more going on then and it wasn’t something I ever asked you about. I think that’s something you should talk to Fenris about.”

“Yeah,” Hawke agrees and adds no more. Instead she asks Bethany to read through the book she’d handed her and picks up a different book. They read mostly in silence, only speaking up to bounce theories off each other. Nether one makes it down to lunch or dinner, but a servant shows up with food for them both shortly after what would have been dinner time.

Bethany sits on her bed and reads with her well into the night. Hawke turns to ask Bethany a question and sees that she’s fallen asleep, book left open on her chest. Hawke chuckles and moves all the books off her bed. She pulls the covers out from under Bethany, who mutters in her sleep but never awakens, and pulls them over Bethany. Hawke changes into her nightgown and crawls in next to her, smiles at her sister.

Hawke closes her eyes, presses her hand firmly on her Soulflame, and drifts to sleep.

*-*-*-*-*-*

_In front of me is… me? I look around but all I can see is Me. Many different me’s in fact. I’ve been here before, I know it. There is the Before Me, Mercenary Me, a Me That Never Was. It’s easier to look at all them now. I’m not so overwhelmed with everything._

_I walk amongst these people who were, **are** , but also are not, me. I run my hand along the emerald gown, think about my mother. She had this dress made specially for me, said that the dark green had always looked striking against my pale skin. I had left this dress in the woods, I don’t think I could find it again even if I wanted to._

_I run a hand up along the leather armor of another me. My taste of what life could be like. Mercenary work wasn’t bad, there are far worse things out there, but even so it was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. I was pampered my whole life and to have to kill to eat was a harsh reality. I’m ashamed to admit that I can’t even remember the face of the first man I’d ever killed. I don’t remember any of their faces. I feel more guilty that I don’t feel guilty about the death I brought. It was either me and my siblings or them. I would always choose Bethany and Carver first._

_I turn and there stands me, the could-have-been Queen of Starkhaven. All things considered, marrying Sebastian wouldn’t have been so bad. We enjoyed each other’s company as children and often that can be enough for royalty, right?_

_The wave of anger that rolls through me is surprising but not unjustified. My own mother never married, but the man she’d chosen, my father, was because of love. The anger settles uncomfortably around me now, as I think about how Mother was going to deny me the exact same right she’d allowed herself. Love._

_I blink, and in that instant, the figure in front of me has changed. No longer the could-have-been Queen, instead it’s a dark, twisted version of me in the mercenary armor. This is the Liar. I remember the title instantly but I no longer feel the same emotions I once had at looking at her. While the negative energy remains surrounding her, I no longer feel the same fear mixed with disgust. Indeed, she still is every lie I’ve ever told, every secret I’ve ever kept, but I no longer see her as untrustworthy._

_I’ve never kept a secret for the sole purpose of hurting someone. I’ve never lied about something truly dreadful. She’s made up of lies and secrets, yes, but they aren’t malicious. I lied to protect my siblings, I kept secrets to protect myself; these are not bad things. And I’ll no longer allow myself to see them that way._

_I reach out, take the Liar’s hand, and whisper, “You did nothing wrong. Bethany is safe because of you. Carver is happy because of you. They are alive because of you. They’ll stay that way because of **us**.”_

_I pull her close, wrap her in a hug, hold tight until I feel all the tension fade away, all the fear settle. My eyes are squeezed tightly shut, holding back tears that I’m not ready to shed. My eyes are only closed for a second, or is it an eternity?_

_I open them because I know that everything’s changed._

_I’m no longer hugging the Liar, but instead it’s seven-year-old me. She smiles up at me. She has a missing tooth. I smile back._

_“It’s good to not be afraid of yourself. I think you’ve healed enough now. Enough so that being put back together won’t break you completely.”_

_I nod because seven-year-old me is always filled with sage-like knowledge. I cover my Soulflame, remember our last chat. “No, I don’t think I’ll break. We’re too strong for that.”_

_“Of course you are,” Mother says, hand on my shoulder. I look to her._

_“Why were you allowed to marry for love, and I for politics?” I ask. I expect to be angry but I’m not. All I feel for my mother is love and longing. I miss her terribly._

_Mother’s smile is sad, “In a world where you are marked only have one true love, I thought it better to arrange your marriage, rather than have you wander this world aimlessly, alone.”_

_“Is that true? Or are you just giving me the answer I hope for because this is my dream?”_

_She gives me a smile that quirks in the corner of her lip only slightly. “Can’t it be both?”_

_“I want to wake up now,” I reply._


End file.
